Break
by QueenSeer161
Summary: Tragedy strikes and Blaine is forced to leave his life in Columbus behind to live with the father, step-dad and sister he never met or knew he had. He hates the idea of living with strangers as much as his diva sister hates sharing the spotlight. But what happens when the first real friends Blaine makes turn out to be Rachel's friends as well? Anderberry sibling A/U. Warning: DV.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I read an Anderberry sibling one-shot this morning that sparked the idea for this story. I'm not exactly sure where it's going yet, but I do have a vague idea. If you find the story interesting or intriguing, please review. Tell me that you'd like to read more and if there's anything you'd like to see. :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Glee characters or McKinley High or the New Directions any of the real places mentioned.**

* * *

Kurt Hummel's thoughts hovered around a song that he knew at some point he _must_ have heard. The first few chords glued stubbornly in his mind and the chorus equally vibrant but the words – he could not remember the words, or at least, not well enough to sing the song that evening. Almost inaudibly humming a few soft bars to himself, Kurt tried, his brows furrowed in frustration, to jog his memory as he piled his books in his locker. His voice hit a wrong note and he shook his head, backing up the melody in his mind and trying again, bringing the note up a step and continuing through. If only he could remember the words!

With a huff, he closed his locker and turned, almost colliding bodily with a beaming brunette. He hadn't noticed Rachel trotting up to him and he started, rocking back a step as the shock settled. Rachel bounced on the balls of her feet and let out a quiet, high-pitched squeal. Kurt exhaled a sigh and closed his eyes briefly, his mood deflating as he resigned himself to what he knew would happen next. "Kurt! Kurt, you will not _believe_ what I got in the mail last night…" The brunette began to prattle excitedly, and Kurt opened his eyes when he felt her hook an arm with his and start to guide him towards first period French.

Kurt pretended to glance away and rolled his eyes luxuriously, but he bit his tongue to avoid voicing aloud the sarcastic monologue running through his head. _Hello, Rachel. It's nice to see you, too! I'm doing so well, thanks for asking! And why yes, this is Alexander McQueen…_ Instead, Kurt hummed, feigning interest. He was annoyed. Very annoyed. More annoyed than Rachel really deserved, and he knew it. It wasn't really her. Not really. And Kurt was smart enough to keep his anger buried far enough to keep from hurting his friend. He was mean when he was angry, and his annoyance wasn't due to Rachel's prattling. Not really.

He barely realized they'd made to their class when Rachel kissed him on the cheek and squealed again. Kurt cringed involuntarily, the kiss most highly unwelcome but it wasn't something Rachel did to him that often. _Thankfully._ She was just excited about…something. He thought he heard her say to him something about coming over after Glee and Kurt nodded absently, not really sure what he'd agreed to, but wanting nothing more than to shut her up and slide into his seat at the back of the class. A group of jocks in letterman jackets were already seated on the other side of the room, laughing together in a way that sounded almost menacing to Kurt who tried to get to his seat unnoticed. No such luck, and his body instinctively tensed when he heard a loudly murmured, 'faggot' accompanied by another round of laughter just before he reached his desk. He ignored them, his eyes narrowing as he stubbornly avoided their gaze, chin lifting pridefully, though in his chest, his heart began to race.

He sat down and Rachel, who was already sitting beside him and pulling out her 'Hello Kitty' pencil holder, turned to him and said, as if nothing at all had happened, "Oh and Kurt! I almost forgot…" Kurt swallowed thickly as he gently removed his notebook and a pencil and laid them carefully almost mechanically on his desk. "That's nice, Rachel," he murmured, though what it was she'd forgotten, or what exactly he was responding to, he couldn't have said. The teacher walked in at that moment, though, thankfully saving him from further conversation – at least for the next 50 minutes or so.

* * *

While Kurt trudged through another depressing day at McKinley High in Lima, Ohio, a boy he'd never met was sitting vigil at the bedside of his mother. The only sounds in the small hospital room were the beeps of monitors and the steady mechanical wheeze of the breathing machine. The boy was angry. So _freaking _angry. He was alone in the room, save for the woman in the bed. If he hadn't already known it was his mother he might have not believed it. Both of her eyes were swollen, dark, and bruised. Her hair was partly shaved, a clean gauze bandage wrapped around the side of her head where the doctors had had to do surgery. _To reduce the swelling_, they'd said

He'd barely slept in three days, and hadn't spoken to anyone – not the police, not the doctors, not the social workers who wanted to get his statement for the file – since his principal had come to pull him out of seventh period. He refused to leave the room, he pitched a fit when the social worker had put a hand on his arm, he hadn't slept. If it hadn't been for a nurse, whose name he never bothered to learn, taking a chance despite his unresponsiveness and bringing him food, he probably wouldn't have eaten anything either.

The adults who were now responsible for him were far more frustrated than they were concerned. They needed his statement, needed cooperation, and unfortunately they didn't have a legal reason to arrest the little punk. It was the nurse that brought him food that overheard their conversation that very first day, and that same nurse who told off the over-worked public servants for being heartless. ("_He might lose his mother! What is wrong with you people?_") To the surprise of both the social worker and the investigating officer, the nurse promised to keep an eye on him and enlisted the help of her colleagues. ("_He won't leave the hospital. I'll make sure of it._")

That nurse snuck him food, leaving it for him with only kind words the boy didn't hear, leaving without expecting a reply. She'd brought him food again not long ago, but he'd ignored her once again, all of his attention focused on the woman with the tube coming out of her mouth, his hand clutching tightly to hers. He would eat once his stomach forced him to acknowledge his need for sustenance, but not yet. Still, it had been three days since he'd followed Principal Brewer out of his classroom, ignoring the sniggering and taunting "oooh"s of the students behind him. It had been three days since he'd last seen his mother's eyes, watching him with a cold, distant sadness from her perch near the kitchen table. He remembered her eyes as she'd brought a cigarette to her lips with trembling fingers and dragged hard on it.

That morning he'd glanced at her, his heart wrenching at the sight. He'd paused for only a moment and watching as she'd exhaled a cloud of smoke. She wasn't eating enough. He'd hoped against hope that she might actually speak to him this time, tell him she loved him, wish him a happy day, but this was life, not a fairytale – and as much as his desire to tell her he loved _her_ despite it all consumed and wrenched at his heart, he simply couldn't bring himself to do it. He hadn't done it. Instead he'd left the house like he did almost every morning – in silence. He hadn't any idea that it might very well be his final chance to speak to her. He hadn't had any idea that the next time he'd see his mother would be in the ICU of Columbus Presbyterian.

* * *

Rachel Berry arrived home that evening with a light skip in her step and a bright smile on her face. She'd gotten to sing three different solos during Glee rehearsal and had nailed _every_ single note (_as if it could have been any other way!_). The brunette hummed happily to herself as she placed her key in the lock and turned it, then pushed her way into the front door of the large, elegant home she shared with her fathers. "Dads," she chirped in a bright sing-song, "I'm home!" Still humming, Rachel removed her pea-coat and her hat and hung them on the hooks by the entrance. She strolled towards the kitchen where her dads were usually waiting on the days she got home late because of Glee.

When she saw them seated at the kitchen table, she paused, her eyes widening slightly when she noticed the expressions on their faces and the way they held their hands together tightly. "Dads?" she asked, her voice only wavering in its confidence slightly as she her smile faded into a look of concern as she advanced a few steps towards them. They didn't look up at her, and suddenly the worst case scenarios started running through the young diva's mind. "Dads," she tried again. Wringing her hands, Rachel asked, worry now clearly breaking through her tone, "What's wrong? Is everything ok?" Silently, she begged the universe, _Please don't let it be Barbra. Please don't let it be Barbra_…

Again it took a moment. Hiram and LeRoy looked at one another sadly, then Hiram gave his husband's hand a squeeze and finally looked up at their one and only daughter. He smiled weakly at her. "Have a seat, Sweetheart. There's something we need to talk to you about." With her heart thundering loudly in her chest, Rachel did as she was told, though now she was really getting scared. Her fathers had never spoken this seriously to her – _never._ She looked between her fathers. Hiram looked distressed but determined. LeRoy just looked like he was about to faint.

Rachel frowned a little and cleared her throat, smoothing the front of her sweater. She straightened in her seat and folded her hands on the table in front of her. "Ok," she said with as much dignified maturity as the teen girl could muster. "What do you need to talk to me about?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So I've been thinking through this story and I'm getting a little excited, not gonna lie! I've got a much clearer idea about where it's heading, at least for the next few chapters or so. If you have any thoughts, questions, ideas, or just want to say 'hello', don't hesitate to drop me a review!**

**D/C: I do not own any Glee characters. I'm just borrowing them temporarily.**

* * *

Rosalie James was not a heartless woman. This was something she insisted to herself on a regular basis because on a regular basis she felt like one. The problem was, as much as she might have genuinely cared for each and every child she worked to help, her job simply didn't allow for it.

A veteran in her field, Rosalie came across as harsh and unfeeling to the uninitiated, but it was this hardened shell that had allowed her to stick it out so long in a thankless, underpaid job. If she let herself really care – if she let herself get _attached_ – she wouldn't have lasted a five years as a social worker in Columbus. Instead, she'd made it twenty. She made it twenty and had helped thousands of children escape hard situations – situations much harder than she herself had ever faced herself. It was her hard shell, her refusal to get attached that allowed her to look at every situation objectively – to look beyond what people wanted and how they felt and make sure they got what they _needed_. She was a veteran, and damn good at her job.

Still, even Rosalie James would sometimes feel the weight of the burdens carried by the children she was assigned to. It was days like this, when she had already logged her twelfth long hour, when the tight dark bun the Latina normally tied her hair into was starting to loosen, when the unexpected outburst of an overly sensitive nurse kept running over and over through her memory, that Rosalie knew it was time for her next vacation – time to recharge her batteries and fix the cracks in her shell caused by unexpected attacks she hadn't had time to brace for. Sitting alone in her office in the nearly deserted building, Rosalie leaned back in her chair with a heavy, tired sigh. She removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. She could feel her heartbeat pounding behind her eyes, sending pulses of pain through the whole left side of her head. She silently cursed. _I don't have time for this. I don't have time for a migraine_, she thought woefully. And in truth, she didn't. There was far too much work to do – far too many phone calls yet to make.

With a bracing breath she straightened again and opened the next file in the stack. She glanced over the details – little girl, 6-years-old, found crying and tied to a chair… Rosalie felt a dull pang in her chest that the woman knew from experience only spelled trouble. _Definitely time for a vacation._ Shaking away the compassion she reached for the phone, pressed the receiver to her ear and dialed the daughter's grandmother. Now was not the time to get emotional. She needed to find a placement for the girl, and fast. She only hoped this conversation went better than the one she'd had three days ago with the man who might have set a record with the number of times he said "faggot" over the course of their short conversation.

* * *

"_They l-lied to me, K-kurt! H-h-how could they h-have l-lied to m-me-he-he?_" Rachel hiccupped her words in between loud, wailing sobs, and she was nearly incoherent to the boy on the other side of the phone call. It was getting late – _really_ late – but as annoying as Rachel could be, she really was his friend, and his worry over the situation he only partly understood had long ago smothered all thoughts of needing to wake up for school in the morning.

Kurt didn't fully understand why she was crying, only that it had something to do with her parents, them lying, and her being the "only one." Still, he could hear the pain and misery she was feeling and it made him want to cry, too. Pain he understood. Misery he understood. He let out a stuttered breath and glanced around his basement bedroom. The lights were out save for a single lamp on his vanity. His moisturizing routine lay abandoned halfway through. The digital clock near his bed that he didn't use read 12:12. "I'm so sorry, Rachel," he whispered, afraid to wake his father who had to get up even earlier than him. "I'm sure – I mean – I doubt they did it to hurt you," he said. "I mean, they love you. Hell, they built a _shrine_ to you in the extra bedroom." That elicited a quick, chuckle and Kurt smiled a little at the sound. He leaned back a bit on his bed, propping himself with his free hand behind him.

The boy listened for a minute as the crying quieted. Rachel continued sniffing loudly and letting out intermittent sobs, but at least she wasn't wailing anymore. He waited. Rachel rarely ran out of things to say and he was sure that once she caught her breath she'd keep right on talking. He wasn't disappointed. "It's just – I spent this whole time thinking I was the first, and I was exactly what they wanted from the start, and then I find out the only reason I exist is because it didn't work out with my brother? I mean – _God_ I don't even know what to _think _about that," she rambled, her voice high-pitched from crying.

This time, though, Kurt had heard the word 'brother'. "Wait – what? Rachel, I can barely understand you. Honey, please, just – take a breath. Slow down, ok?" he pleaded. Through the phone Kurt heard her sniff and hiccup as she tried to quiet her sobs.

"Rachel," he continued gently, "I'm sure it isn't like that." Though, Kurt could not have been sure of any such thing. "Now – just breathe for a bit and then you can start at the begin—"

A loud knock at his door interrupted the conversation. Kurt cursed silently under his breath when the door opened and his father's footsteps thudded on the stairs. The boy's eyes widened as he turned to meet Burt's tired eyes as he emerged from the shaddows "Kurt," he grunted softly but sternly, "it's time for bed. Say goodnight to your friend."

Kurt cursed under his breath. _How does he do that? _There wasn't any room for discussion, though, Kurt could tell. Rachel's sniffling had quieted though, so he assumed that she could hear his father's voice. "I'm sorry, Rachel, I have to go," he told her regretfully. She said nothing in return, though, only sniffed. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, ok? Just – try and get some sleep." He felt his heart clench slightly at her listless response. She simply agreed sadly and wished him goodnight. "Goodnight," he replied quietly and hung up the phone.

Kurt looked up at his dad. Burt, satisfied, let his tone soften. "Sweet dreams, Buddy," he said, and Kurt, still doing his best to save his dad from any stress, forced a smile.

"You, too."

He watched him turn away and listened as the older man trekked back up the stairs. As soon as the door clicked closed, Kurt released the breath he'd been holding and tossed his phone on the bed beside him. He moved the arm he'd had propping him and flopped back on the bed. Silently, the boy stared at the shadowed ceiling that almost seemed to swim the longer her stared. A brother. That was news, except he didn't really know what kind of news it really was. He'd no idea what Rachel meant by saying it hadn't "worked out." Had they tried for a boy and failed? Was there something wrong with the baby? Had they tried adopting? Before or after they had Rachel? He was pretty sure Shelby didn't have any kids. He probably should have been feeling worse for his friend than he did, but he couldn't help that the whole idea had him curious, and better than that, it made for a nice distraction. It had been far too long since Kurt had wondered anything other than where his next Slushie facial was coming from.

* * *

_…And in other news, a local man was arrested last night when authorities arrived on the scene of a convenience store robbery in progress. Twenty-three-year-old Jonathan Abrams was armed, but no one was injured. Police suspect his involvement in a series of armed robberies that have taken place in downtown Columbus over the last month, one of which ended in the injury and hospitalization of a 40-year-old school teacher…_

Blaine Anderson let out a huff and turned his eyes away from the television to check the clock on his cell phone. The television in the hospital waiting room was set on a 24-hour news loop, providing just enough background noise to keep the 16-year-old from sleeping. He'd hardly slept since he'd arrived at Columbus Presbyterian nearly four full days ago. The dark circles that sagged under his eyes and the pallor of his olive skin testified to that. He'd been there for hours, and after being encouraged to try and sleep, in the harshly lit room, he'd tried (and failed). Having given up his efforts after an hour though he'd decided to try and give his system a boost with caffeine instead.

Now slightly wired thanks to the drink that tasted vaguely of charred mud, Blaine bounced his leg unconsciously while clutching his paper cup. He'd refill it soon if he felt himself slipping. His mother would be coming out of surgery soon, and he needed to be awake for her when she did. He didn't want to miss his mother's return to her room. He had at least fifteen messages waiting for him in his inbox, his friends – or rather, his _friend_ – wanting to know what had happened, where he was, why he wasn't in school. He wanted so badly to have someone to talk to, someone to hold his hand and comfort him.

Bethany had always been good for that. When his mother and he got into fights, when Darrell made his life at home unbearable, when Adam decided he wanted nothing more to do with the Sophomore, his friend Bethany was there. Except that now, here, as much as Blaine wanted her, he really wanted no one there. He didn't want to talk about what was happening because he didn't really know yet. He couldn't tell her the story because he was waiting to see how it ended. He was hoping still that this wasn't as bad as he feared, that soon his mother's bruises would fade, she'd open her eyes, and squeeze his hand, promise him it would be just the two of them again – the way it used to be – and they would live happily ever after. But this was reality, not a fairytale.

Blaine looked up expectantly when he heard the doorknob click. He hoped it would be his nurse – he didn't know her name, but she was on from 9 to 9 and it was 9:37 a.m. the last he'd checked. The door opened and Blaine straightened. The woman in the doorway wasn't his nurse and he deflated slightly. The woman there was dressed in a blue skirt and a white ruffled blouse. She had tan skin, darker than his, and dark black hair pulled into a tight bun. She was a family member no doubt – someone else here to just sit around and wait while someone else was responsible for her husband or mother or father or God-forbid, her kid. Hope instantly faded, Blaine slouched back in his chair, his attention having dropped from the woman as soon as he'd realized she wasn't there for him. He only hoped she wouldn't try and chat with him while they waited.

It took him a moment to realize the woman hadn't moved. She was still standing in the doorway of the waiting room, her dark eyes cold and locked on him, as if she was waiting for him to react to her. "Blaine Anderson?" she asked in a quiet, no-nonsense tone. He straightened, watching her, his brows furrowing automatically with question and distrust, but he said nothing. For the first time he noticed she had a file folder in her hand. "My name is Rosalie James. We met a few days ago. I'm a social worker, and it's my job to make sure you're taken care of. I'm afraid it's time we finally have our talk. Please, come with me."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks to everyone reading so far and hello to anyone just joining in! This chapter's got a lot more angst but hopefully some answers. I'd love a review to hear about whether you like the way I revealed the info or not, if it's in character and realistic. I promise the angst will lighten up a bit from here, though it'll probably ebb and flow for a bit. :P**

**D/C: I don't own any of the Glee characters. The rest are my own.**

* * *

Neither Hiram nor LeRoy Berry went in to work on Friday morning. Their talk with Rachel the previous night had not gone at all how they'd hoped. After pleading with their shrieking daughter to try and calm down and listen, and after said daughter stormed off in tears to hole herself up in her bedroom, and after both men listened to Rachel's hysterical sobs for over an hour, they both decided they could _all_ use the day off to regain their bearings. After all, it wasn't every day a person learned they had a son – or in Rachel's case a brother – they didn't know existed.

It was nearly 10:00 in the morning and Hiram, leaning against the kitchen counter with coffee in hand, exchanged a pregnant glance with LeRoy, who was cradling his own mug at the breakfast table. This was one of the rare days that things were actually silent in the Berry household. Save for the ticking of the wall clock and the low hum of the refrigerator motor, there wasn't a sound to be heard, but even in silence, a conversation wrought with understanding and a promise to stick together was exchanged between the two men with only that look. They'd made it through worse, and they'd make it through again.

Hiram sighed tiredly and glanced at his watch, then brought his mug to his lips, blew gently across the surface of his coffee, and took a sip. The sound of footsteps on the staircase drew the attention of both men and they watched the entrance to the kitchen expectantly until their teenage daughter appeared. The men exchanged another glance, then looked back at their daughter. Her blotchy skin and puffy eyes would have given away the fact that she'd been crying half the night, even if they hadn't been able to hear it loud and clear. Rachel shifted uncomfortably under their gaze, though she held her head high as she pulled the flaps of her fluffy pink robe more tightly around herself. Her eyes averted making contact with either of theirs. She was still angry, and intended to tell them so – just as soon as she found the words. LeRoy beat her to speaking, though. "Hi there, Sweetheart. Did you sleep ok?" he asked gently.

Her eyes snapped up to his and her mouth bobbed open, his hopeful and hurt-filled expression doing a good job at deflating the ire she'd so determinately held on to. Hiram took a few steps towards the table, though his eyes remained on Rachel. Meanwhile, the girl seemed to struggle for words. "I," she began, bringing a hand to her temple before dropping it down again. "I can't believe you two. You promised me no secrets," she said, her words steadily gaining speed as she talked, "you – you said you'd never lie to me and-and-and that I could trust you. You told me I was the only one and now –"

The girl gestured her exasperation, lifting both her hands and letting them drop again limply. She patted her chest with the palm of her hand. "How was I supposed to take it, learning that all this time there's someone out there who shares my parent, maybe even my _blood_ and you two were just – keeping him from me. _Why?_" Rachel's chin trembled and she was sure that if she hadn't cried so much already, she'd be tearing up right then, but now was not the time. She was _angry_, damn it.

Both Hiram and LeRoy looked at Rachel with woe and regret. Rachel might as well have asked them for an explanation as to why they'd kicked her _puppy_. It didn't matter how perfectly logical the explanation was, how impossible it would have been to tell her to truth since neither had known the truth to begin with – their little girl was hurting and both men felt a wave of guilt and shame and a desire to grovel and beg and plead for her forgiveness. But now was not the time for doting. Rachel was hurting, yes, but now another little boy was possibly hurting worse, and Hiram and LeRoy, for the first time in their lives, had to find a way to meet the needs of _both_ their children at once, one of whom they'd never even met.

With a regretful sigh, Hiram took a seat at the table. "Have a seat, Honey," he said, gesturing with his free hand as he laid his coffee mug down.

Rachel considered refusing for only a moment before deciding that whatever they had to say, it was probably best she be seated to hear it. Without a word, she did as she was asked, taking a seat as far away from her fathers as she could.

"We understand you're upset," LeRoy began, his eyes darting towards Hiram.

"And believe me, we never intended to hurt you, it's just…," Hiram added, trailing off, only to have LeRoy complete his sentence.

"We didn't know he even existed until we got the call."

Hiram saw the protest bubbling up and cut his daughter off, "Because his _mother_ lied to _us_."

"And said she lost the baby..."

"Which of course, left us devastated..."

"Because you know how much we wanted a baby…"

"But even after she backed out, we didn't quit…"

"And we kept looking..."

"Until Shelby came along."

"Shelby was perfect."

"Absolutely perfect."

The two men shared a fond smile. This was the part of the story Rachel was very familiar with. Turning his attention back to his daughter, Hiram scooted his chair closer and reached out a tentative hand to pat hers. "We never lied about that. We wanted you. And you are as perfect a daughter as Shelby was a surrogate."

Behind him LeRoy nodded his agreement, then continued their joint explanation. "If we'd had any idea we had another child we would have told you. It's just that when Christy gave us the news…"

Hiram frowned.

Leroy hesitated but when his husband didn't finish the thought on his behalf, he was forced to do it himself. "It was a shock to say the least. We'd gotten are hopes up so high, only to be disappointed so suddenly. And she didn't want to try again."

"No, said losing one baby was hard enough. And then she didn't answer any calls."

"This wasn't how we wanted you to find out. And we certainly never thought…"

"That is, the idea she might have been lying…"

Both men looked at one another and fell silent. Rachel, who'd been staring at the table all this time was having a hard time processing everything they were telling her. "So – wait. You're telling me you kept this brother of mine a secret from me because you didn't know he existed, and now you know, and so – you told me?" Her fathers nodded. "And you expect me to believe that all this time you had no idea that there was someone out there who shared your _blood_?"

Hiram and LeRoy exchanged another glance. "Honestly, Sweetheart, this is just as much a shock to us as it is to you," LeRoy told her, but it was clear he was getting nervous.

"Your father's right. We had no idea we might have another child out there until the call came."

Rachel looked pointedly at her own hands, frowning deeply. She looked up at the mention of the phone call. "And how do you know it was even for real. How do we know this guy isn't just trying to take advantage of us or something? I mean, you don't know anything about this guy. He could be a con artist or something who calls up random gay couples with failed surrogacies and claims to be their long-lost _son_," she demanded, her tone raising in volume and pitch until she was practically shrieking. This was too much – it was all too much.

Hiram sighed before taking it upon himself to answer her gently, "It wasn't him that called us, Rachel. It was his social worker." He felt exhausted, and day wasn't even halfway over.

* * *

Blaine paced restlessly in the small room he'd been taken to. His arms were crossed protectively across his middle and he was shaking his head defiantly. "No – no, you're _lying._ My father left me. _And_ my mom. He walked out on us. He doesn't give a crap about me, never has. Whoever told you different was _lying!_" The boy gritted his teeth, pulled out a chair and dropped into the seat. He lowered his hands into his palms and rubbed his face and tired eyes with the heels of his hands. Finally carding his fingers through his curls, Blaine let his head hang there, supported by his hands, propped by his elbows, his eyes unfocused on the table below.

"Blaine," responded the Latina calmly, "your father did not walk out on you. He didn't even know you existed until yesterday."

Blaine wanted to scream, to yell, to throw things. She was wrong. They were all _wrong._ He was angry – so angry – but he felt so tired. He was too exhausted, too drained, and Blaine let his hands drop to the table, his eyes looking up at the woman. It had been days since he'd last laid his head on a pillow on a real live bed. "Why does this even _matter_? All I want is my mom. I don't need anyone else. Can we just – leave it?" He wanted to fight but Blaine could feel his energy waning. "If I say I believe you can I just go? My mom should be out of surgery soon. I need to get back to her. I _promised_ I'd be waiting for her." Though he wasn't saying "please" his eyes were tired and pleading. He just wanted to go. He didn't _care_ about some guy he'd never met and who'd never even bothered acknowledging Blaine's existence as long as the boy could remember. He didn't _care_ why he'd grown up without a real father. He didn't need another parent. In fact, he and his mom did best when Blaine was the only man in the house. Her boyfriends only made things harder on all of them.

But for some reason, the cold, unreadable woman, wasn't budging. Except now she wasn't looking at him either. She seemed to be contemplating something. In fact, she was contemplating that something so hard it was a wonder her eyes hadn't burned a hole through the table. Blaine watched her, his exhaustion having given way temporarily to curiosity. But then she lifted her head, and the mixture of sadness and regret that tinted her gaze did nothing short of stop Blaine's heart on the spot. "There's something else, Blaine. Something you need to know that I'd _hoped_ I'd be able to tell you with a parent or guardian present but as it were…" The frowning Latina trailed off with a bitter edge, but shook away her train of thought before continuing. She lifted her eyes again and locked them on Blaine's. Leaning forward slightly, the woman laced her fingers together on top of the table. "Blaine," she said, her voice taking on a gentler timbre, "I understand you want to go home with your mom, and I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but – the thing is – your mother's injuries – they were very serious. Whoever hurt her hurt her badly. She – the doctors did what they could, Blaine – they tried to make her better but – I'm – I'm afraid she's passed away."

Blaine's eyes had widened. His head shook from side to side. "No. No!" The boy stood suddenly, accidentally knocking over his chair as his fear and panic devolved into rage. "She was fine! I was there when they took her and she was fine. She was going to make it! You can't – she can't –"

It took Blaine a long moment to realize he was crying. His legs gave way beneath him and he dropped to the floor. He tucked his forehead into his knees and wrapped his arms over his head. The fabric from his jeans muffled his wails, but they still filled his own ears. He didn't hear his social worker speak to him. He didn't hear her reason with him that his mother in fact had not been fine – that with internal bleeding and the swelling in her brain her chances of survival without any permanent damage had been quite slim. He didn't hear her hesitate, or walk around the table and crouch beside him. He'd practically forgotten she was there until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Blaine jumped at the unexpected contact, knocking her hand away and scrambling away from her. It was only when he backed up to the wall and turned his tear-streaked face towards her again that he remembered who he was with. The woman looked stunned, frozen with wide eyes and a hanging jaw, but Blaine didn't have the capacity to care. He choked out another sob and covered his head with his arms again. He refused to believe it. He didn't want to believe it. But a part of him knew it was true – a part of him knew from the moment he'd seen his mother, her face swollen and bruised beyond all recognition, that she wouldn't make it out alive. Not this time.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews and follows and favorites! I'm really glad those of you are enjoying the story so far. This update was quicker than anticipated. Let me know what you think!**

**D/C: I don't own Kurt, Blaine, Mercedes, Rachel, or anyone/anything else you recognize from the show.**

* * *

Kurt breathed a sigh of relief when the final bell finally rang for the day. All he had to do was make it from the classroom to his locker to his car and he'd be free for a whole two days. He quickly slammed his book closed, made a feeble attempt at stacking the notepapers on his desk, and shoved his materials into his messenger bag. He slung the bag over his shoulder as he stood and shot a smile at Mercedes beside him. (This was one of the few times that alphabetical seating worked to his advantage.) "Ready?" he asked her.

"You know it," the singer sighed heavily and followed him out. Kurt had a habit of blazing his own path through the hallways of McKinley when he was on a mission. It was generally best for those in his way to simply step _out_ of it. Mercedes merely followed just behind him. It was Friday, and Kurt clearly had a mission to get the hell out of McKinley as quickly as possible.

"So are we still on for tonight?" Mercedes asked.

Kurt smiled over his shoulder at her and gave her a quick nod before turning his eyes forward again. "I am if you are."

Mercedes smiled fondly at him, but then she frowned lightly. "Still no word from Rachel?"

Kurt's brows knitted together and his mild smirk faded. He reached into the zipper pocket of his bag for his cell phone as the pair pulled up to his locker. With a finger swipe he unlocked it and shook his head. "No, nothing," he said, trying to school the concern in his voice, but not completely succeeding. He locked the phone with the press of a button and dropped it back in his bag, meanwhile reaching up with his right hand to open the combination lock. Mercedes leaned heavily against the lockers next to his, resting her head on the cool metal.

Kurt hadn't told her about his call with Rachel last night. Ever since his performance of "Le Hot Jazz" from Victor/Victoria, Rachel had managed to become somewhat of a close friend. A best friend, maybe. Perhaps not better than Mercedes, but still. He'd achieved a newfound tolerance for her because he'd seen a glimmer of selflessness that week, and even if they hadn't been the best of friends, Kurt knew how hard it was for Mercedes to keep a secret. He wouldn't betray Rachel's trust like that.

He dug through his bag, removing two books he didn't need and replacing them with one he did. Beside him, Mercedes continued the conversation, "Well, home-girl better get it together. She owes me a manicure."

Kurt smirked at that and let his locker door slam shut. He was so ready for the weekend, and even more ready for their monthly sleep-over. Behind him the hallways were thinning and he turned to walk Mercedes to her locker. He looked up away from her just as the girl pushed off from the lockers, and suddenly, he felt something hard and freezing slam him in the face. Cringing at the impact, Kurt stopped dead in his tracks and he stuttered back a step. He lifted his arms and tilted his head down, trying as he might to keep as much of the now dripping sludge from soaking all of his clothes.

Through the white noise buzzing loudly in his ears, he heard three sets of cruel laughter and Azimio's voice, "Have a nice weekend, _Lady._" Kurt clenched his teeth as he tried wiping the sticky mess from his eyes, only to feel a heavy hand shove into his shoulder and push him, stumbling, into what he assumed was Mercedes.

"Hey!" the girl shouted when her friend collided with her, as if only suddenly affronted.

Karofsky ignored her. "See you Monday, Faggot," he sneered, his voice much closer than Azimio's but still moving away. Kurt shivered and cringed. His eyes were starting to sting from a mixture of the irritating dye and his own welling tears. _So close_, he thought. He'd been so close to getting out of that school without taking a single slushie that day. He swallowed back the lump quickly forming in his throat, and took another swipe at his eyes with his fingers.

"Are you ok, Kurt?" he heard Mercedes ask gently as his bullies' laughter disappeared.

"Perfect," he replied bitterly. "Never better."

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Come on, boo," she sighed, "let's get you cleaned up." Kurt didn't know what was worse about her tone, the pity or the resignation. As much as he hated pity, it hurt him that everyone seemed oblivious, or if not oblivious, indifferent – as if Kurt getting bullied and called a "lady" and a "faggot" was simply the way things were and had to be. Even his best friends didn't think he deserved better.

Kurt simply nodded his assent, not trusting himself to answer her, and let her lead him to the nearest bathroom. At least if his eyes were red and tearing, he wouldn't have to admit how much it hurt him every time this sort of thing happened. He could blame it on the red dye #7.

* * *

The drive from Columbus was filled with heavy silence. The day had been a long one – possibly the longest day the Berry men had ever experienced. It was almost 11:30 when the phone had rung, interrupting the conversation between Hiram, LeRoy, and Rachel. They had been getting somewhere, they'd thought, having all three moved to the couch. They took turns crying and Hiram and LeRoy took every opportunity to hug the daughter sitting between them on the couch and remind her how much they loved her and how that wouldn't change. They were a _family_. She was their family and they were hers, no matter what.

And then the phone had rung. The men had ignored it the first time, but then it had rung again, and realizing it may have been important, Hiram had promptly excused himself.

As well as Rachel had seemed to be taking the news that somewhere out there was a boy who was, for all intents and purposes, her brother, they still hadn't gotten around to explaining the circumstances that prompted the call from the social worker, or even suggesting the possibility that this boy who as of then had remained unnamed to Rachel, might one day in the future need to live with them. Perhaps they should have told her from the start instead of waiting, but neither Hiram nor LeRoy had predicted how quickly the call would come.

The social worker – Rosalie had been her name – had told them only the barest of details. She wasn't at liberty to discuss the mother's condition after all, only that there was a medical emergency that might necessitate placement. The call on Friday morning, less than 24 hours after they first learned of Blaine's existence, came far sooner than either man would have imagined.

The events of that morning played over and over in LeRoy's mind: the look on his husband's face when he had entered the living room, hand held over the receiver, calling as calmly as he could for LeRoy's assistance; the discomfort of having to tell the social worker that yes, they were partners and no, he wasn't a woman; the shock of finding out that Christy was dead; the initial resistance in his gut and the guilt that immediately followed when Rosalie started asking details for the purpose of their son's placement. Sure, ok, so they'd told her Thursday that yes, of course they'd care for their biological son if the need arose, but they hadn't known the need would arise so _soon_. And then there had been the confusion about the names….

_"So which of you is Hiram?" Rosalie asked. She smiled at them, but LeRoy could tell that it was forced. His husband answered for them._

_"I am. And this is my partner, LeRoy."_

_Rosalie's eyebrows jumped in surprise. "And I'm sorry, your middle name is…?"_

LeRoy sighed at the memory, his eyes were focused on the darkened scenery as the shadowed outline of trees whizzed past them. In the backseat Blaine hadn't made a single sound. He'd answered most questions with a shrug, and some with a blank or pointed look, depending. LeRoy risked a glance back at the boy. Blaine was resting his curly mop against the headrest and his forehead against the window. The dull yellowed light of the streetlamps and the neon glow of the radio lit the boy's face. He had in a pair of earbuds and his eyes seemed trained on the lanes of oncoming traffic. LeRoy looked up again to see his husband cast a worried glance his way.

"You ok, baby?" Hiram asked gently, his eyes facing front again. LeRoy hated driving at night if he could avoid it, and the day had been a long one.

"Yeah," he replied, forcing a smile, though he probably shouldn't have bothered. Hiram always knew when he was lying, but luckily Hiram also knew when he didn't want to talk. _Not now_, the strain in his tone was saying. _We'll talk about this at home._

Hiram merely nodded lightly. For his own part, Hiram was doing his best to avoid any heavy thinking. He focused on the drive, constructed a shopping list of all they would need in his head. Rachel was off at her sleep-over (_thank God_), so at least that would give them all a night to rest. Blaine had been through enough today, what with losing his mother and finding out about them. Hiram still didn't know how he felt about he and LeRoy being gay. Sure they were out and proud, but they weren't naïve.

Blaine had avoided making eye contact with either of them, and maybe he hadn't come out and expressed homophobic opinions but it wasn't as if the kid was given a choice. Hiram hoped to God this kid wasn't going to cause a problem because his biological father – whichever of the two men that happened to be – was gay. But honestly he'd forgotten that worry when Blaine had come out of Rosalie's office with all his belonging already in hand.

Like an idiot he'd offered to help by getting the rest of Blaine's things and the boy had given him an incredulous look that seemed layered with fear and resentment. Those _were_ his things, the man had quickly realized. The boy's entire life had been stuffed in a duffel bag and an old tattered backpack held together in places with safety pins. _First order of business, buy this kid – _his_ kid – a backpack that _isn't_ falling apart._

* * *

Blaine hadn't known what to expect of his new "parents". He didn't know how much the social worker – Rosalie was her name – had told them. No matter what, he'd known they would judge him. People always did. With them it actually came quicker than he'd expected. He saw the look of shock and embarrassment on Hiram's face when he tossed his duffel and backpack in the car and closed the trunk. He'd tried to suppress the angry flush of humiliation, knowing these people were already passing judgment, already thinking they knew about him, about his mother, and that they were _better _than her because his backpack was torn. Well maybe he _liked_ his backpack. Maybe he didn't _want_ a different backpack.

Blaine had refused to look at either man the entire drive to Lima. Instead he'd put in his earbuds and turned his old battered iPod to Young the Giant. He'd listened to their self-titled album on loop, sometimes stopping and repeating certain tracks that usually calmed him. He hadn't known what to expect when the Berrys walked through the door, introducing themselves as Hiram and LeRoy. For a minute, Blaine had been stunned, his heart skipping suddenly at the thought that these men might be partners, but he quickly shook that assumption away. He knew what happened when he assumed those sorts of things about people.

With his unfocused gaze pointed way from the men in the car, Blaine missed the knowing glances and the snippets of conversation. He let himself slip away into the lyrics of the songs. He didn't know he was dozing off until he was jolted awake by the smash of his forehead against the glass as the car pulled into the Berry's drive. His iPod was silent, the album having run all the way through to the end. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut and blinked. He brought a hand to his temple and just for good measure checked his palm for blood. No, of course there wasn't any. He hadn't hit the glass that hard. But ahead of him the teenager suddenly realized with a blush, LeRoy had thrown a look of concern his way.

The moment Blaine met his eyes, his own narrowed and he looked away, yanked his earbuds out of his ear and busied himself with undoing his seatbelt. He shoved his iPod and earbuds into the front pocket of his hoodie, then reached for the door handle. Blaine was in no rush to leave the car or enter the new house, though a quick glance around the large garage, which had room for two large cars and then some, caused Blaine's stomach to sink. They were _definitely_ judging him, and Blaine's frown deepened. Again he fought off a flush as he reached for his things.

"I got it," Blaine snapped quickly at Hiram, who'd made a move to help. He gave the man a quick, warning look before yanking his bags from the trunk. It was instinct, and Hiram looked initially shocked, but then he smiled gently. _Those were words_, Hiram thought to himself. _That's progress._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I know, I know. It's slow going but good stories need good set up. And I promise – there is a method to my madness. :) And please review. I will resort to begging if I have to...**

**D/C: Yeah, we all know the drill. It's fanfiction – by definition I use other peoples' characters. That's sort of the point.**

* * *

Carole Hudson loved her job. This was something she reminded herself of on a regular basis, especially on days like this where it was almost 10 am and she was just arriving home from a 12-hour shift. As she pulled into her driveway and put her car in park, she released a heavy breath and let herself close her eyes – just for a second. She could feel her own exhaustion, but it was worth it. She and Burt had a date tonight. He was taking her to a movie but refused to tell her which one. Behind her eyelids she could see his face, him smiling at her with that mischievous twinkle in his eye, telling her, "_Well that's too bad, Carole, 'cause it's a surprise._" She smiled to herself at the memory, and strengthened by a small burst of energy her happiness provided, Carole grabbed her keys from the ignition and moved to get out of the car.

Not ten seconds passed before her brow was furrowing again, her smile fading. She let out another sigh. The grass was still growing and Finn, who'd promised her time and time again this week that he'd "do it Saturday morning, Mom – yeah, yeah, first thing," was clearly still asleep or had forgotten. She shook her head, and after letting her keys drop with a clatter on the kitchen table, Carole shrugged off her coat and headed for the stairs. "Finn?" she called. "Finn!" Her annoyance was creeping steadily into her voice as she trudged tiredly up to his room. "Finn," she called out again as she reached his room, rapped her knuckles on the door and opened it. "Finn, I – Oh my God!" Carole started, her eyes wide as saucers as her hands flailed and flew to her mouth.

From the bed came a shriek, and then another. "Mom! Mom, I – God – _crap,_" Finn stumbled over his words as he frantically fumbled with the covers, as if he could somehow undo the damage, as if by covering her up, he could make it so that his mother hadn't seen. Instead, he only succeeded in getting his arms tangled with Rachel's, who was blushing a deep red and trying just as hard as Finn to cover herself. It was a testament to the level of shock Carole felt at finding Rachel in Finn's bed that she didn't actually notice for quite a while that both her son and his long-term girlfriend were fully clothed. Finn, who'd given up trying to pull up the covers had buried his face in his hands and Rachel, who was still as red as a beet, was looking down at her own. _God, she looks so embarrassed I think she's going to cry_.

Carole felt a little better at that, if only because she clearly had the power here. She lowered her hand. "Finn, you are grounded. One week," she said, silently thanking God that her voice had come out steady. Finn dropped his hands immediately, looked at his mom with a look of wide-eyed shock. "But mom, that's not _fair!" _ Carole ignored him. "And Rachel," she said sternly though a bit more gently. "I think you'd better go."

Rachel nodded furiously and stood up from the bed, ignoring her sputtering boyfriend as she quickly grabbed her coat and purse and scooted past her boyfriend's mother. She practically flew down the stairs and out the door, clearly anxious to escape the mortifying situation, but once her walk home was underway, and her fathers' house was growing closer with every step, Rachel began to rethink her haste. As much as she'd wanted to leave the Hudson household the moment that Carole had walked in the door, she wasn't in any real rush to get herself home. She'd lied to her dads, lied to her friends, had gone the one person she'd wanted to go to grounded, and going home – facing her dads having realized, _Oh God, what if she calls them?_ – no, she simply couldn't do that now. She needed time – time to think, time _alone_.

There was a stranger in her house right now, and knowing her dads, they'd want her and this Blake guy to "bond". _Well maybe I don't _want _to bond_, she thought petulantly. A streetlight changed and Rachel sighed, coming to a stop at the corner while she waited for the light to change to green again. She hiked her purse on her shoulder. Her lips pursed as she considered the practicability of simply taking the extra-extra long way home – the way that might take her all the way to McKinley on the far east side of town before actually taking her home. Hell, her people had walked for 40 days in a desert, right? Surely she could handle walking around for a few hours to avoid her dads.

Except, as Rachel realized looking down at her ballet flats, her ancestors probably wore shoes meant for walking. Rachel sighed, and lazily let her gaze fall on the "open" sign in the door of the 24-hour iHop. Her eyes brightened slightly. Suddenly, a cup of coffee and plate of day-old pancakes sounded practically _appealing_ if it meant avoiding home for a few hours more.

* * *

Blaine hadn't realized he'd been close to falling asleep until he woke up in an unfamiliar bed with a small start. He sat up blearily, propped himself on his elbow and rubbed at his eyes with the knuckle of his thumb. Scowling at the tight in the skin of his cheeks he wiped at the streaks of long-dried saline as if his fingertips could erase away the fact that he had cried.

Sitting up properly now, Blaine took his first look around the room in the light of day filtering through the blinds. He grimaced. God, it was even worse in the _daylight_. The room, which was small by any standard (though larger than the room he'd had back home – his _old home_, he reminded himself), was made to feel practically claustrophobic with all the _crap_ these people had covering all four walls. Photos – headshots mostly – of a dark haired girl with a giant grin, certificates of achievement, medals, trophies, _plaques_ for goodness sake. It seemed like everything this girl had ever done was displayed in this room. Blaine had no idea what all these things were, and though he could easily have walked up to any medal, trophy or plaque to read exactly what it was this wonder-girl supposedly _achieved_, he had no interest. In fact, he actively avoided accidentally finding out. He didn't want to know, and as he kicked off the covers of the day-bed, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, Blaine made sure to keep his eyes from wandering over any part of this _shrine_. No way he was ever going to fit in in this family – not if it meant he had to worship this girl that was pretty and probably perfect and probably popular and probably everything that Blaine was most definitely _not_.

In silence, the boy pulled a pair of jeans and a clean shirt from his duffel bag and changed his pants. At the small night-table near the wall he pulled his beat up cell phone off the charger, flipped it open, and turned it on. He waited for the jingle to sound, signaling that the phone was starting up, then tossed the phone back on his bed. He took to scrounging through his duffel for his deodorant and rolled it on before pulling his t-shirt on over his head. A quick glance in the mirror told him he needed to fix his hair, but first, he took a second to check his messages. There were none. No new ones anyway. He rolled his eyes and shoved the phone in his jean pocket before walking to the door and opening it.

It was only when he was out in the unfamiliar hallway that the fear and apprehension he'd felt on first arriving started to rise to the surface again. In that little room it was just Blaine, alone with himself. He had an illusion of being insulated from the strangers in the house. But now, in the hallway, he was one step closer to meeting them. In fact, though, he did not, making it all the way to the bathroom at the end of the hall and closing the door without encountering a soul.

Well sure, ok, they had said their bedroom was at the other side of the house, right? _Their bedroom_. The thought of Hiram and LeRoy sharing a bedroom, like they were just like any _straight_ couple, made something clench in his chest, but he pushed that feeling away. He'd done his best not to react when LeRoy had told him that the night before. He didn't trust these people. Being gay didn't make them good, and if he let them know about him, let them know any of his secrets, that would be one more thing that they could use against him down the road. No, it was better not to get close to them at all. Blaine sighed. He met his own eyes in the mirror and ran his fingers along his jaw. He'd shaved last night in the shower and already he had a shadow, and God that _hair_. He scowled at himself. He was honestly tempted to buy a gallon of gel and plaster his hair to his _head_ if it meant he could go one single day with it under control. Instead, Blaine just wet his hands in the sink and ran them through his hair to try and flatten it out where necessary.

When he no longer resembled someone that may have stuck his finger in a light socket, Blaine took a bracing breath and figured he couldn't put it off for any longer. He needed to go downstairs. With any luck LeRoy and Hiram would still be sleeping and he'd be granted a little time to snoop around without interruption. He quickly realized as he made his way down the stairs that this was very far from the case. He could hear the men talking in the kitchen and the sounds of pans and plates clanking before he even reached the ground floor. Unsure of whether he should even be interrupting, Blaine approached the kitchen, but hesitated entering. LeRoy was reading something from the paper out loud and Hiram was at the stove listening with a grin and a laugh on his lips. Blaine didn't even hear the words LeRoy was saying – he was far too busy taking in the scene which for some reason suddenly terrified him. He looked between the man at the table and the man who was stirring the contents of a simmering pot, and it was only when he heard his name that he snapped back to the present, his senses hyper-aware.

"…join us?" LeRoy was finishing saying. The newspaper was lowered and he smiled uncertainly at the boy. "Oh hey Blaine," greeted Hiram, his tone calm and kind. "Did you sleep well?" Blaine looked back at him. "Yeah, sure," he muttered, then with hands buried deep in his pockets he made his way over to the kitchen table, chose the seat farthest from LeRoy and sat, his gaze set warily on the man. No, he definitely didn't trust these people at all.

* * *

Rachel could only avoid going home for so long before her dads would start to worry. They thought, of course, that she was at Mercedes' place. Rachel figured when she didn't get a call right away from them that Carole must have chosen to spare her the embarrassment of telling her dads what she'd done. _Or maybe they're just letting me think she didn't tell them and lulling me into a false sense of security in my lie_. Rachel closed her eyes and groaned. It wasn't working. She didn't feel any better about the situation after sitting alone in a diner, nursing a cold cup of terrible coffee for over an hour. In fact, she felt worse. This was going to suck no matter what.

As the gum-chewing waitress with the heavy bags beneath her eyes came over to set her bill on the table, Rachel took the opportunity and spoke suddenly, "Can I ask you something?" The woman stopped, taken aback, but looked at Rachel expectantly. "If you found out after, say, 16 years, that you had a brother you never knew about and all of a sudden that brother was coming to live with you and your parents expected you to get along, what would you do?"

The waitress blinked at her. "Uh…"

"Nevermind," Rachel sighed, and with a tight smile she pulled a bill from her purse. "Keep the change," she said to the woman before sliding from the bench and leaving the diner.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Seriously, apologies for the delay in updating. I'm super buried at work, and stressed, and yeah…life is getting in the way. But I do have ideas for upcoming chapters sketched out, so I will try my best to update on a slightly more regular schedule. And a huge huge THANK YOU to all of you who have followed or favorite my story! I don't know you, but I'd like to – so leave me a little review to tell me what you like or don't. This is my very first multi-chapter fic, so any feedback is super welcome and appreciated. :)**

**D/C: Yes, we know – the stuff you know from the show is only borrowed.**

* * *

If there was one thing that Blaine learned about the Berrys, it was that they liked to talk. A lot. For his own part, the boy's guarded, distrustful eyes flicked back and forth between the two men that tried with wide, almost _nervous_ smiles to engage him in conversation. They weren't really succeeding, their polite questions about whether he'd slept well, if he'd lived in Columbus his whole life, and if he liked school had earned them nothing more than a muttered, "fine," an affirmative grunt, and a shoulder shrug. Still, the men persisted, their voices carefully calm, their sympathy palpable as they tried – perhaps too hard – to make Blaine feel like everything was going to be okay.

Hiram had slid the lasagna in the oven and joined his husband and son at the table. A small wistful smile spread across Hiram's features for the slightest moment as he observed Blaine, an expression that perhaps set the boy even that much more on guard when he noticed the shift. Blaine leaned back in his chair almost instinctively. LeRoy, not noticing the change, continued explaining their plans, "…so we thought it would be best if you didn't worry about going to school this week. Hiram and I will take care of the paperwork and you can start a week from Monday." Blaine's eyes suddenly snapped up to look at LeRoy and widened. _A new school_. He hadn't thought about that. In all of this, it hadn't even occurred to him that he would need to transfer, that his friends – his _friend_ – who'd been trying frantically to reach him might never see him again.

LeRoy misinterpreted the expression and quickly raised his hands to show surrender, "But if you aren't feeling ready, it's okay, Blaine." Hiram, clearly concerned as well, chimed in to add, "Right – of course you can take all the time you need…" Blaine's brows knitted tightly together and he dropped his gaze to the table. He watched his right hand tug at the fingers of his left as he tried to force the racing thoughts in his brain to slow. He didn't want to start a new school or make new friends. He didn't want to live in Lima with these _people _he didn't know. He wanted to see his friends – _'friend', Blaine, seriously get with the program_ – in Columbus, but would these people even let him? Would they drive him down there or give him money for bus fare? And suddenly the thought of money took him to thinking about his job, and Blaine bowed his head, squeezed his eyes shut into his palms and grimaced. He'd just been hired three months ago, and now he'd have to start the process again and _shit._

Blaine felt the pressure of a hand on his arm and he startled violently in his chair, instinctively sliding it back and away from Hiram, who looked at him with eyes wide as saucers, his hand frozen in shock. _Great, now they think I'm a freak_. Because honestly, who wouldn't? And LeRoy shared Hiram's same shocked expression. Neither man had any opportunity to say anything, let alone apologize, before they heard a door bang and a high voice call out tiredly, "Dads, I'm home." All three men turned their attention towards the door that led to the hall but it was Hiram that spoke up. "We're in the kitchen, Sweetheart," and with a glance at the boy across from him added, "and Blaine's here with us." Blaine looked over at him with questioning eyes, but said nothing. Instead, he listened carefully for some reaction from the girl he'd not yet seen – the girl that was this other man's "Sweetheart." He waited, but after a long beat of pregnant silence, he heard the low thunder of footsteps jogging up the stairs. _Figures._

For a few minutes the three men sat in an awkward silence, Hiram and LeRoy exchanging glances that probably could have constituted a conversation themselves, but Blaine avoided both their eyes. He'd never felt more out of place. Okay, so maybe that wasn't _completely_ true. He'd definitely felt far less comfortable in his grandfather's house, but that was always a different situation entirely. Blaine had nearly lost himself in his memories when another bout of rolling thunder signaled Rachel Berry's descent.

* * *

Rachel hadn't known what to expect upon arriving, but hearing her father call out so nonchalantly that her "imposter-brother" as Rachel had taken to calling him in her head, since neither "step-" nor "half-" quite seemed to fit the circumstance, was in the kitchen with them left her frozen. And though she'd taken a full ten minutes to go through her breathing exercise and school her features outside the Berrys' front door, Rachel still couldn't help but panic. She ran upstairs to her bathroom and splashed cold water on her face to try and snap herself out of her nerves. She took a long shaky breath, her dark eyes meeting the eyes in her reflection. "You can do this," she told herself, injecting far more confidence into her voice than she felt. "This is nothing but stagefright – Rachel Barbra Berry does _not_ do stagefright." And with all the determination she could muster, Rachel straightened up and after patting her face dry, used her fingers to flatten out stray strands of hair. The girl gave her reflection one last nod, and with a practiced air of confidence – the very same that walked her through the hallways of McKinley – Rachel descended the stairs and marched her way into the kitchen.

She let her eyes fall on her fathers in turn, and each looked a mixture of worried and hopeful. _I'm mad at them_, she reminded herself, and after lifting her chin and ensuring her stoic expression was firmly affixed to her face, Rachel advanced first on Hiram, and then on LeRoy. "Hello, father," she said with formality reserved for only the aftermath of the most important fights, and she kissed Hiram on the cheek. She repeated the process with LeRoy, and only then, when she was on the complete opposite side of the table as Blaine, did Rachel finally look at him. He was scowling at her, and her features faltered for a split second before she reschooled them and pulled her lips into a tight, forced smile. "And you must be Blake. I'm Rachel, Rachel Berry." The girl in the pink dress held out her hand, arm as stiff and straight as a rod as she walked back around behind Hiram to stand within shaking distance of Blaine. The boy only watched her, his teeth clenching as he took in the clear disdain in her tone and her eyes. From his perspective she was clearly looking down her nose at him, her expression smug, as if there was something she had he didn't – as if she was better than him. Blaine just looked at her face, then down at her hand, then up at her face again, but Rachel didn't falter or lower her hand.

Eventually, seeing no other option and nothing truly _bad_ that could come from a handshake alone, Blaine took her hand gingerly in his own, clasped it tightly and didn't shake. "It's Blaine," he corrected her snappily before dropping his hand. Her eyes widened slightly and she swallowed thickly before furrowing her own brows even deeper, like there was something she was trying to riddle out.

Turning away from Blaine, Rachel clasped her hands and addressed the other men in the room. "Father, father, if it's all the same to you, I think I'll just take my meal in my bedroom _alone_."

For the first time since the previous day, Hiram looked visibly annoyed. "As a matter of fact, it isn't all the same to me. Blaine is here," he said, his tone softening briefly, "and we are going to have dinner here. As a _family_." At that word, Blaine's entire body tensed and he turned a sharp gaze on Rachel. The girl met his eyes with a disdainful glare of her own.

It seemed clear to each of them that they weren't exactly liked by the other. "_That's fine,_" they thought simultaneously, "_because I don't like you either._"

* * *

It was early afternoon, and despite Kurt's constant assurances that he didn't want her to go, he felt secretly relieved when Mercedes enveloped him in a bone-crushing good-bye hug. "Oh – breathing. Can't breathe," he wheezed dramatically with a teasing grin on his lips. Mercedes pulled back and laughed.

"Bye, 'Cedes."

"Later, Kurt. Thanks again for hosting." The girl gave Kurt a friendly wave as she headed down the stoop and towards the street. Kurt, just smiling gently, leaned back a bit, one arm crossed over his middle and raised the other in a single gesture.

The boy breathed a soft sigh. He lowered his arm and crossed it in the other while he watched Mercedes reach and get into her car. He waited for her to pull away, raising his hand again when he saw her wave at him one more time, before turning around and heading into the house. As he locked the door, Kurt heaved a breath and let his shoulders sag and the smile to slide off his lips. _Man_, he was tired. Staying up way too late watching movies and gossiping was always fun, but left Kurt, who always got up extra early to do his skin-care routine no matter what, extra tired and ready for a nap by mid-afternoon. Today was no exception, but instead of heading to bed, Kurt headed up to his room, closed the door, and grabbed his phone off of its charger on the desk.

One thing had been on his mind – one thing he couldn't really discuss with Mercedes until he actually got the story from Rachel…and her permission, of course. Mercedes, as much as Kurt loved her, couldn't be totally trusted to keep a juicy secret, and certainly not one told to her second-hand. The brunet typed in his pin to unlock his phone, then went straight to recent calls and dialed Rachel. He waited, hoping he might actually get to talk to her. Instead, the phone didn't ring, going directly to Rachel's voicemail the moment the lines connected. The girl's overly-cheery sing-song voice made him cringe, like it always did when he heard the all too familiar greeting she'd recorded. Somehow the voicemail system had managed to make her sound even more annoying than she usually did in person.

Kurt pulled an annoyed face and disconnected without waiting for the 'beep' or leaving a message. He'd tried – he could surely say he'd tried – and with that alone enough to satiate his conscience, Kurt did something he hardly ever did and let himself flop, clothes and all, face down on top of his bed. Rachel had seemed most definitely upset the last time they'd spoken, but if it wasn't important enough to return his texts or answer his calls, then Kurt found he couldn't really bring himself to care to really know.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Oh gosh, angst ahead. I've been trying to be better and keep the story moving. Giving you all a little bit more insight (hopefully) plus a little bit of set up for what's to come. I'm honestly curious to know what you all think of Rachel, because I'm trying really hard to keep her canon. She's really not a villain - just self-absorbed - but she has her good points, too. Let me know if you can understand Rachel's side of things or if maybe I need to do a better job with her.**

**Oh, and any thoughts on what might be upcoming would be appreciated. ;) I'm curious to see if my foreshadowing's paying off!**

**D/C: ****Nothing belongs to me except the plot.**

* * *

The weekend seemed to pass far too quickly for Hiram Berry's liking. So far, he considered it a victory whenever he got Blaine to say anything more than a single syllable in response to any question. So far he'd learned very little about his teenaged son (_son – God that was weird to think about_), but was trying not to push it. He knew that getting adjusted was going to take some time for everyone, but he'd hoped he might have at least had something resembling a conversation with the boy after two whole days. Hiram watched Blaine with a small frown as the boy poked listlessly at the food on his plate, his eyes downcast. Hiram had gone to the trouble of making both meat and vegetarian options, but neither seemed to inspire the young man's appetite. For the first time ever, Hiram only listened halfway to his daughter's soliloquy about the various songs she might want to solo at the upcoming sectional's competition.

LeRoy seemed to be giving Rachel his undivided attention, but that didn't stop him from stealing concerned glances at the boy across the table, too. Rachel, however, seemed intent on ignoring that Blaine actually existed, and at least from Blaine's perspective, that was perfectly fine with him. "I spoke to your social worker today," Hiram said softly to Blaine. Though Rachel seemed to slow the pace of her story and glance at her father curiously, she quickly continued her story, though she focused all of her energy only on LeRoy, who was now struggling to keep eye contact with his daughter as his attention shifted between Rachel and the boy across the table. Rachel, though, was making it impossible for him to hear since it was clear she wasn't meant to be included in that conversation. Neither Blaine nor Hiram noticed LeRoy's struggle, though. Blaine said nothing, giving no indication he'd even heard, so Hiram continued, simply assuming he had. "The funeral's been arranged for Wednesday. LeRoy and I will both be taking the day to drive you to Columbus."

Blaine froze. His fork still in hand, the prongs still pressed to his plate. The sound of his own heartbeat flooded his ears. "Tomorrow you and I can go out to buy you a suit while Rachel's at school," Hiram continued. Blaine barely heard him, and barely realized that Rachel had stopped talking, her eyes wide and mouth gaping.

"_Wait_, wait, the funeral's Wednesday? But what about me? I can't miss school on Wednesday, I have rehearsal! Sectionals is only a month away!"

"_Rachel_," Hiram interrupted, voice raised. It was the third time he'd said her name but the first time she actually heard it. Her mouth snapped shut. LeRoy placed his hand on her arm and just shook his head gently. With a hand on his hip and his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, Hiram exhaled a sigh. He lowered his hand from his face. "Rachel," he said, his voice far more quiet and controlled. "You aren't going to the funeral. Your father and I are going with Blaine. You'll be staying here."

With the root of her drama torn from under her, Rachel's brow furrowed and she breathed a silent huff. She felt embarrassed, she felt annoyed that there was even the possibility of such a disruption to her life, and more than that, she felt annoyed she couldn't exercise her frustration. She didn't know why she felt that way, but ever since Sunshine waltzed into her life – and into that crack house – and then to Carmel High…. Nothing felt as it should be and Rachel hated it, she hated everything. And right now the person she hated most was Blaine, oh so special Blaine, oh so _moody_ Blaine. She glared at the grilled tofu on her plate and stabbed it angrily with her fork. She didn't want him here. She just wanted _one_ thing in her life to stay the same. Was that really so much to ask?

Hiram, though, as he seemed to be doing more and more since Blaine's arrival, ignored his daughter and turned back to look at Blaine who, he suddenly realized, had raised his head to look at him, his eyes distrustful and questioning. However, the moment their eyes met, Blaine averted his again. Hiram turned to exchange a glance with LeRoy, who he saw had observed the whole exchange with a grim expression. Suddenly Hiram felt tired – very tired, and as the silence bore down on them he found himself at a loss over what to say.

"May I be excused?"

Hiram's eyes snapped back to the boy beside him. Blaine's tone, as always, carried an edge, but the fact that he had spoken up at all was a positive sign. Hiram felt hope creep back into his chest. "Of course, son," he said without thinking, and realized his mistake when Blaine's features twisted, his eyes narrowing angrily almost immediately.

"Don't call me '_son_,'" he spat and stood, but didn't waste a single moment before taking advantage of his permission and leaving the kitchen. All three Berrys sat, stunned. Hiram felt as if he'd been physically slapped. He turned pleading eyes at LeRoy, who met them with a sympathetic glance of his own.

LeRoy slipped his hand into Hiram's and squeezed it tightly. "I know, Hiram. He'll come around." Hiram squeezed back and smiled weakly at his husband. Rachel just watched the exchange, her heart hammering in her chest, not knowing _what_ to think.

* * *

Blaine stared at the ceiling in the rapidly darkening bedroom. "Son." The word hung heavily over his head, mocking him. He was still avoiding the myriad of awards that were decorating the walls, now more than ever that he'd met the Berrys' perfect little _princess. _"_It's just temporary_," they'd said. "_We'll take this all down,_" they'd said. The idea twisted painfully in his gut. It sounded like every other promise ever made to him – promises for a brighter future, for happiness, for real _family_. Promises, he remembered, that his mother repeated every time they moved, or another boyfriend left, or another came into the picture. They were promises she'd never kept, and now she never would.

Blaine's vision blurred and he rolled onto his side, facing the wall and wrought iron bars of the day bed he was laying on. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. A sob escaped and he bit his fist to muffle the sound as his knees began to curl towards his chest. He didn't want to be there. He didn't want these people – these _strangers _– with all their talk of "family" and "son." He had no family he was no one's "son." His mother was his only family and now she was gone, the talk of the funeral a harsh reminder of that. He'd known it would happen sooner or later. The funeral, that is. He'd known it would have to happen, but he'd preferred to ignore that reality. He preferred to pretend that it wasn't just the décor that was temporary. He'd rather pretend the entire situation was only "until we get back on our feet." And then he'd be back – back to Columbus, back to his home and his mother, but not the mother he'd seen in the hospital bed or that morning the last time he saw her conscious. He wanted the mother that used to wake him up on Saturday mornings to help her make pancakes, who'd get into a batter fight with him and who'd laugh with him until both were holding their sides because it hurt.

But even that was a fantasy. Because that was always interrupted by someone screaming – a boyfriend, or worse, his grandfather. Their fun always gave way to fear when whatever man was protecting his mother came in to see the "mess" that she and her bastard son had made. All he wanted was his mother and no one else. And he hated himself for making that impossible. Hated himself for not being strong enough to protect her himself, to keep her safe, to be the "man" of the house. Or strong enough to be a man at all.

He bit down hard on the flesh of his hand as his grandfather's sneering face entered his mind's eye, and along with it the disappointment he'd seen in his mother's eyes ever since he told her the truth about himself. And now here he was, as weak as ever, curled up and crying like a little faggot. The thought drew a thick sob from his chest and he twisted into his damp pillow. If he'd been stronger – if he hadn't been so damn _weak_ – it could have been _him_ that looked out for his mother. _He_ might have been enough. Except that he wasn't enough. And now the only family he'd ever had was gone, torn away from him because he hadn't been strong enough to protect it.

It hurt. His insides twisted angrily and he physically _hurt_ because he knew no matter what, there was nothing he could have done to save his mother.

* * *

"And then he just _snapped_, Finn. He yelled at my dad, told them not to call him 'son'," Rachel ranted into her phone receiver, her voice hushed and rapid. She flopped back onto her pink comforter. "I don't know what to do. He's just awful, Finn. He's so mean and nasty all the time and I see the way he looks at me."

"_What? Looks at you how?"_

"Just – just like he hates me. Hates all of us. Honestly, I don't know why he even bothered coming to Lima unless he just _likes_ making people miserable. I just – I don't know, Finn. He's clearly got _issues_." She whispered the last word. "My dads won't tell me anything about the situation but there's a social worker involved and –"

_"Wait, like, foster care?"_

Rachel shrugged, though she knew Finn couldn't see her. "Yeah, I guess."

_"Aren't foster kids supposed to be like, bad news?"_

Rachel turned over onto her stomach and propped her elbows on her pillow. "Well, this guy is totally bad news. He's rude and disrespectful and it seems like my dads don't even notice. I mean, I don't know anything about him, and I don't know that my dads really do either. For all we know he could be a drug dealer or a criminal or something."

_"And your dads are just _letting_ him stay with you?"_

"Yeah I know. I don't see how they can just trust him like that. They don't even know for sure if he's their _son_ and still…" Rachel sighed. "I just – I just want things to go back to normal. I don't want to have to be scared in my own house, looking over my shoulder in case my new imposter-brother decides to go all crazy and snap. Those sorts of things happen, you know."

Ok, so maybe that was a bit dramatic, but _still_. The line was silent for a moment and Rachel fiddled with the bow at the neck of her nightgown.

"Finn?"

"_Yeah?" _Rachel frowned at his tone. He sounded tense.

"I miss you."

_"I miss you, too, Rachel_."

She smiled at that. "I should probably go. It's getting late."

_"Yeah, me, too. Hey, Rachel?"_

"Yeah, Finn?"

_"Keep your door locked, ok? And call me if – if that Blake kid goes all psycho or tries to hurt you or steal from you or something. I just – be safe ok? And if you need me to teach him a lesson – I don't care if he's in a gang. I'll beat the crap out of him if he touches one hair on your head."_

Rachel felt her heart swell. She knew the boy's name was 'Blaine' but didn't feel the need to correct Finn on the fact. Finn had never been so protective of her before – probably because he'd never really had a reason to – but it felt _good_ knowing her boyfriend was ready to beat the crap out of her "imposter brother" the minute he stepped one toe out of like. Smile wide from ear to ear, Rachel bit her bottom lip. "Okay," she agreed, and her smile was clear in her tone as she said goodnight to her perfect, perfect boyfriend.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Eep! I'm on a roll it seems – mostly because I'm in major procrastination mode right now. Thanks to all of you who favorite, followed, and/or reviewed so far. I really love the reviews most because I'm curious what you think and what you're more excited to see!**

**D/C: Only the plot is mine.**

* * *

_Well, this is awkward_.

Blaine felt his face begin to flame as his eyes shifted to see Hiram out of the corner of his eye. Hiram was smiling at the tailor who was standing behind Blaine, lifting his arms to measure his wingspan as he chatted on about the newest shipment from Armani and how are particular suit would look just _delicious _on LeRoy. The tailor was gay – oh so flamboyantly gay – and though there wasn't any reason to really be nervous, he supposed, he'd never had anyone take his measurements before. He didn't know what to expect, what would come next, and he certainly wasn't used to having anyone standing so close behind him, let alone _touching _him. He felt on display and completely out of place in a store that sold custom-tailored suits. He'd never even _owned_ a suit, but Hiram and LeRoy insisted he couldn't go to Columbus in jeans. (That's what they'd started calling it – "going to Columbus" rather than "going to the funeral." Blaine felt somewhere halfway between annoyed and relieved that the men were avoiding the word.)

He swallowed thickly when the tailor crouched to measure the side of his leg and told him he could lower his arms. The chatty tailor shifted to crouch in front of Blaine. "Spread your legs for me," he instructed casually, causing the boy's face to flame even more, but the tailor – who Blaine was pretty sure was named "Sydney" – wasn't paying any real attention to him. His story about the Armani suits was apparently over since he filled the next moment of silence with a nonchalant question about what sort of occasion they were shopping for.

Neither Blaine nor Hiram had an opportunity to answer before the tailor anchored the tape measure at Blaine's ankle and stretched it up the inside of his leg. Sudden panic gripped his gut, eyes widening and both hands pushed the tailor's – _Sydney's_ – hand away from his crotch. Blaine stepped quickly back, but the corner of the shop where the three men stood was small. He didn't have anywhere to go, really, except back up to a mirror. The fear and instant distrust was suddenly shielded by anger and Blaine glared at the tailor and Hiram in turn. His hands clenched. He could fight them if he needed to, get away from them if he needed to, but the momentary surprise on the two men's faces gave way quickly to something else. On Hiram's face he saw what looked like concern and on Sydney's – was that _empathy_? The tailor smiled calmly at him, as if his reaction was nothing to be concerned about at all.

"You've never had your measurements taken before?" he asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question. He beckoned Blaine with his hand. "Come on, Blaine. I need to get your inseam, but you can hold this end, ok?" He offered Blaine one end of tape-measure and smiled encouragingly, like the boy's reaction was nothing to be embarrassed about – like he didn't even notice how red the teenager's face had gotten. Blaine's eyes flicked toward Hiram who had his arms crossed loosely over his middle. Hiram attempted a small smile but Blaine could still see concern and sympathy in his eyes. Focusing back on Sydney, Blaine set his jaw, pressing his lips into a thin line and nodded almost imperceptibly. He stepped forward, accepting the tape measure cautiously.

"You'll want to hold the end on the inside of your leg – a little higher." Blaine complied, but his blush flared again and he turned his eyes to the ceiling. Anything to keep from thinking about how close this stranger was to his –

"Perfect! All done," said Sydney cheerfully. He plucked the tape from Blaine's hand and smiled widely before turning his attention to Hiram. "So we were thinking classic black?" he asked, walking towards the man whose gaze, for just a second longer, lingered on the boy.

"Yes," he responded when Sydney placed a hand on his shoulder to guide him towards the front of the store. "And we'll need a couple of different ties, I think. Maybe black and gray pattered and then something with a bit more color. What do you think, Blaine?"

The teenager, who'd lagged behind the pair, snapped his eyes up to meet Hiram's for just a second before turning away. He simply shrugged. "Whatever." He didn't notice Hiram's disappointment at the unenthusiastic response. Instead, he let the men resume their conversation and he strolled over to a colorful wall display of bow ties. His brow scrunched together, his eyes flicking between the tied tie on display and the untied versions hanging on hooks. After glancing back at the men to make sure that neither was paying attention to him, Blaine plucked a brown and tan bow tie from the display. He turned it over in his hands, examining the deceptively simple knot that turned that strangely shaped piece of fabric into a perfect, symmetrical bow.

* * *

Rachel arrived at school extra early Monday morning, having wanted to leave the house before either of her fathers had a chance to insist on interaction with her new imposter-brother. An hour singing her heart out to Barbra in an empty auditorium had made her feel a _little_ better – especially since her fathers had insisted she nix the early morning warm-ups, at least for the week. Rachel had glared at them for it, and simply added it to the growing list of "ways that Blaine 'Imposter' Whatever-his-last-name-is is ruining my life." It was like the moment this guy showed up, he'd established himself as the most important person in Hiram and LeRoy's shared life – a position that Rachel had occupied exclusively for nearly 16 years before this intruder came along.

It was hard enough dealing with the loss of what she saw as her fathers' undivided love, but having to give up the things that made her feel normal, change the routines that kept her focused on sectionals and winning, made it a lot harder to simply ignore the unwelcome presence in her life.

It wasn't until second period that she finally ran into Kurt, and his bitch-face alone was enough to remind the girl that she'd been ignoring his calls and texts all weekend. She smiled sheepishly. "Hey, Kurt," she greeted him before launching directly into an apology, "Look, I'm really, really sorry about calling you Thursday and _bailing_ on Friday and not even calling, it's just – I've been dealing with a _lot_ right now and I needed time to myself and I didn't mean to shut you out, but I'd really appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything to anyone. I'm just not ready for everyone in Glee to know and –"

Kurt held up a hand to silence her and she stopped her ramble mid-sentence. "Rachel. It's fine." Then Kurt quirked a smile, and Rachel grinned, knowing it was all ok. She smiled happily and sidled up beside him to walk with him to class. She was about to ask about the sleep-over she had missed when Kurt added nonchalantly, "Besides, I already know about Finn. I can't say I really blame you for skipping out on us." He smirked at her shocked expression, then simply shrugged. "Just because I don't participate in the locker-room banter doesn't mean I'm deaf to it, too."

* * *

Blaine was still admiring the tie when he heard a voice behind him. "See something you like?"

Blaine started and whipped around to see Hiram smiling gently at him from a few feet away. When Blaine said nothing, Hiram continued, already almost used to the one-sided conversations. "LeRoy's got a thing for bowties. I don't mind them, myself. Just sort of depends on my mood." The older man picked up a maroon and black pattered bowtie and held it up in front of Blaine, his eyes scrunching as if he was trying to imagine the boy with the bow tie on. "This one would work with your hair," he said. "I think that one," he added, considering the tie in Blaine's hands, "would match your eyes. Hold it up?" Blaine shot him a quizzical look. "Go on," Hiram encouraged, "we might as well do this now rather than having to come all the way back, don't you think?" He smirked at the boy.

"I don't _need_ bowties," Blaine murmured in response, but held the brown one up to his collar anyway. His effort to deter the exercise was clearly half-hearted, even if it was clear he wasn't exactly comfortable shopping for suits and accessories. Hiram, though, simply smiled, ignoring the statement.

"Yep, thought so. But that won't really go with a black suit – we should probably get you a second one in brown."

Blaine's eyes widened, but Hiram was clearly speaking more to himself than to Blaine. From the wall, he grabbed an untied version of the brown and honey-tan pattered bow in Blaine's hand, and before the boy could say anything, Hiram was off, clearly on a mission, and headed straight for the tailor. Blaine watched in mild horror as Sydney turned to talk to Hiram, his eyes and friendly smile flashing brightly. Hiram held up the bowtie and pointed his finger at it as he said something. Sydney looked at the tie, took it from Hiram's hand and nodded, then beckoned the man to follow him towards the area of the shop where all the brown suits were hanging displayed.

Blaine watched, helpless, as the entire scene unfolded. He didn't want a _brown suit_. He didn't want a _black_ suit even. He didn't want anything from these people, but Hiram was making it completely impossible to refuse, and Blaine knew he didn't have a choice. He knew he needed a suit to wear to the funeral and only Hiram and LeRoy had the money to buy it. He hated this. He hated relying on anyone but himself. He looked down at the tie in his trembling hand, then crushed his fist around it, his jaw clenching. He knew it was probably irrational to think, but part of him felt like the more the Berrys did, the more he owed them, and they seemed intent on racking up his debt. He didn't want the stupid tie. He didn't want to owe these people anything. But underneath that angry thought, he felt anger at himself, because underneath that angry thought, a part of him really, _really _wanted the tie.

* * *

Rachel's mood improved as the day continued, and by the time Glee rehearsal came around, she had totally forgotten about the drama with Blaine and her dads. She arrived in the auditorium, already clad in her Janet outfit, and caught eyes with Kurt. He wasn't smiling and she shot him a questioning look. He just shook his head and looked away. Shrugging it off (_he probably got hit with another slushie after lunch_) Rachel turned her attention to Finn, who'd just arrived on the stage, looking adorable in his Brad costume and glasses. She beamed at him, skipped towards him and stood on her tip-toes, her lips puckered and asking for a kiss. Finn smirked and obliged, pecking her chastely. Neither noticed that Kurt had looked up and seen it, and Sam, the only one who happened to see Kurt looking and what he was looking at, thought nothing of it at all because Kurt returned his eyes to his script without a single hint of emotion crossing his face.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Deferred to the end…**

**D/C: You know the drill.**

* * *

Blaine was actually feeling hungry after a long afternoon shopping with Hiram. LeRoy had spent Monday at work, "getting things organized" he'd said, since apparently he was taking the last three days of the week away from work. It was only Hiram and Blaine, then, that shopped for suits, and Hiram that took a long, pointless stroll through Sheets and Things, just pointing out and picking up random objects and asking Blaine's opinion, and Hiram that stopped without any warning at a luggage store with a wall full of Jansport bags like the one Blaine had at home (except without the safety pins). To Blaine's utter shock, Hiram had walked right into the store with a grin and the told the sales clerk with hands raised in surrender, "I'm just the man with the credit card. This guy needs a new backpack." And just like that, Blaine Anderson had found himself with no choice except to pick the bag he wanted, settling for a simple navy backpack that was one of the more inexpensive options. It made him feel just a little less guilty.

Now back at home – well, the _Berrys' _home – with a new black suit, four ties, and a backpack in tow (the brown suit still needed a few more alterations), he found that he was exhausted from the day and practically _ravenous_. It wasn't until the phone rang and LeRoy, who'd been in the middle of telling a story about his secretary's mug, got up to answer it, that it all came crashing back why exactly he'd had so little appetite to begin with. Blaine looked up from his plate the moment he heard LeRoy say "Oh hello, Rosalie, how are you?" His eyes flicked between LeRoy and Hiram when the two men shared a glance, and even Rachel was looking on with a strange look that bordered on curiosity. "Wait! Don't – I mean – don't tell me which of us – we'd rather not know, but just –"

With a pained look at the people at the table, LeRoy disappeared quickly around the corner. Blaine stared at the place where LeRoy had stood, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. A moment later LeRoy was back, the phone disconnected and a wide smile on his face. His breathing quickened, the breaths he took coming short and shallow.

Hiram was up like a shot. "Is he…?" LeRoy nodded excitedly and Hiram launched himself forward, capturing his husband in a tight hug. The men clung to each other and then Hiram drew back just enough to allow him to press his lips to LeRoy's. They shared a feverish kiss before LeRoy nestled his head on Hiram's shoulder, his eyes gleaming. Hiram kissed the top of his head tenderly. They were so happy, so unbelievably happy. Sure the last few days hadn't been easy, but there had never been a question for either man that the moment they heard they might have a son, they wanted their son to be with them, to live in their home, to grow up with two dads that loved him. There had never been any question, and for those first few blissful seconds they reveled in the relief they both felt knowing that no one could take Blaine away from them now. Paying extra to rush the paternity test had been worth it in both their minds.

There was nothing that could break them out of their happiness, nothing that could ruin the moment. Well, nothing except the sound of a chair hitting the floor and Rachel's surprised shriek. The men broke apart to see their son – their Blaine, disappearing from the room. They heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs and the sound of a door slamming. They looked on in stunned silence and glanced at one another, unsure what to say, if one of them should go after him, completely lost over what to do until Rachel reminded them – _loudly_ – that she was still in the room.

From her seat at the table, the dark haired girl raised her hands in frustration and shrieked, "Will somebody _please_ tell me what the _hell _is going on?" Because it seemed to her that everyone, even Blaine "Imposter" Anderson, knew what was going on but her.

* * *

He was hyperventilating. Blaine was hyperventilating and his lungs burned angrily as he paced erratically in the claustrophobic room. He tried to slow his breathing, tried to take deeper breaths because he knew that was the only thing that would keep him from passing out. He knew a panic attack when he had one. He knew the symptoms better than any sixteen-year-old should. Sinking to the floor, Blaine drew his knees up and curled into them, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. Consciously, silently, the teenager coached himself. _Breathe in, breathe out. Come on, in – then out. In. Out. _Each breath came slower and deeper and shakier than the first. He needed to slow down his heart, slow the adrenaline. He needed to calm himself. He was helpless like this – helpless when he panicked.

But Blaine knew what Rosalie's call meant. He knew based on LeRoy's smile and he could have sworn he heard Hiram whisper "ours". _Ours_. He didn't want to be "ours". "Ours" meant he had to stay. "Ours" meant he couldn't go back to Columbus. He was stuck with the Berrys and no one, not even his social worker could take him away from there. He felt _trapped_. And the shock to his system of not only understanding the meaning behind call, but the memory of what brought him there flooding back at the same time, was more than he could handle.

* * *

Rachel was quiet, the frown on her face, the furrow in her brow, and the fact that she didn't look at either of her dads made it clear to the Berry men that she was stewing. Clearly, she wasn't as happy about the confirmation as they'd hoped she'd be. Blaine was there to stay, and while to Hiram and LeRoy were relieved to know that they didn't have to worry about anyone taking Blaine away from them, Rachel felt more put out now than ever before. Blaine was staying, he _was_ her fathers' son, and now the only thing that could make it all right was if that social worker called back to say the lab had made a mistake, and even irrational Rachel knew that wouldn't happen. In fact, she was willing to wager the social worker was _glad_ to have Rachel's headcase brother off her hands.

Rachel only looked up at her fathers when, after having a silent conversation with his husband, LeRoy announced quietly "I'll go check on Blaine." Hiram pulled his chair closer to Rachel, and with sympathy clear in his eyes, he held his hand out for his daughter to take. For a second she looked at it, as if she was really considering whether or not to take it, but her face quickly softened. She sighed and slipped her hand into his.

Hiram smiled. "Come on, Rachela," he encouraged her gently, calling her by her Hebrew name. "What do you say to a little duet, huh? Just you and me, just like old times, Princess?" At the nickname, the corner of Rachel's mouth twitched and she felt a little flutter of something happy and familiar. She turned her large brown eyes on her dad, her beloved dad, who along with LeRoy had raised her, cared for her, taught her everything she knew about family, and Rachel smiled. Hiram gave his baby girl's hand a squeeze, certain that nothing had really been resolved, but somehow, they'd all pull through in the end.

* * *

LeRoy stood outside Blaine's door, his palm flat against the wall. He took a bracing breath. From downstairs he heard the music start, and for a second, his lips twitched into a smile. He strained to listen and could have sworn he heard the beginnings of "Just Give Me a Reason," his daughter's voice resonating clear and cool as she sang the opening bars of Pink's part of the duet. Before his partner began to sing the second verse, LeRoy turned his attention back to the door. Stealing himself for anger or rejection, LeRoy raised his fist and rapped his knuckles lightly on the door.

"Blaine?" he called gently. "Blaine it's LeRoy. Can I come in?" He listened. For a few seconds he heard nothing. He rapped again, louder this time. "Blaine?" Again, silence, but after a moment his straining ears picked up the hint of rustling, followed by light footsteps. He straightened up and waited patiently for the lock to turn and the door to open. He found himself face to face with Blaine, whose curls looked a bit wild, as if he'd just woken up. His face looked drawn, his eyes puffy, and LeRoy thought he could even see a greenish tint to his skin. He looked like death warmed up, but LeRoy fought the urge to react to Blaine's appearance. After all, he likely felt at least as bad as he looked. Instead, LeRoy attempted a smile and asked again if he could come in.

Blaine said nothing, but after a second, rolled his eyes away and stepped back, opening the door for his – for LeRoy. The older man entered and took a seat on the edge of the day bed. He folded his hands on his lap and waited but Blaine just crossed his arms defensively and remained stationed by the open door. If LeRoy didn't know any better, he'd have assumed the boy was making sure he had a convenient escape route. _On second thought, do I know better?_ he wondered. He smiled encouragingly and moved over, closer to the foot of the bed to leave a lot more room for his son. "You can sit if you like," he said, gesturing with his hand. Blaine seemed to contemplate this for a long beat before shrugging and moving towards the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed near his pillow, which was about as far away from LeRoy as he could be without standing up again.

LeRoy took a slow breath. This was going to be harder than he thought.

"Blaine," he began gently. He adjusted himself to angle his body towards the boy, while being careful not to shorten the gap between them. "I know that this is – less than ideal." The teenager arched an eyebrow at that. "I wish that we could have met under different circumstances. I wish that things hadn't turned out the way they did. I don't know if I've had a chance to really say it, Blaine, but I am so, so sorry about your mother." LeRoy's expression turned pained and he leaned forward the slightest bit, laying a hand on the unoccupied bit of bed between them. Blaine, whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn't _that_, and before he could really stop himself, his chin began to quiver and a lump rose in his throat. He dropped his gaze immediately, avoiding LeRoy's eyes.

LeRoy wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to draw him into a tight hug and never let him go. He wanted to take the pain away. The fact that he knew he couldn't didn't make it any easier to watch. "Hiram and I – we just want a chance to get to know you, Blaine. We just want to give you all the things we never –"

"_Why?_"

LeRoy started, drawing his hand back when the boy suddenly raised angry eyes to his and cut him off.

"Why now? You had sixteen _fucking _years and never gave a _damn_ before."

LeRoy's brows furrowed. "That's not true, Blaine. I thought the social worker explained it all."

Blaine just scoffed, and LeRoy's concerned expression took on an element of pity. "Oh, baby," he soothed, "that's –"

But LeRoy didn't get to finish, he tensed at the pet name and stood quickly. "I'm not your _baby_," he bit out before turning and walking out of the room. LeRoy flinched at the slamming bathroom door at the end of the hall, and it was only then he realized the house was silent again, the music having stopped. He wondered how much his husband and daughter had heard, and after massaging his temples with his fingertips he stood, cursed himself silently for letting the pet name slip, and headed for the stairs to join the singers in the drawing room. Maybe Hiram would have better luck.

* * *

**A/N: Welp! It's official. Blaine's staying with the Berrys and Rosalie's case is officially closed. I think this chapter is one of my favorites because we see some really heartfelt exchanges, and I, like Hiram, know nothing's really resolved, but somehow, I'm fairly sure they'll all be ok in the end. :) R&R, please! And keep your eyes peeled for turning points ahead. ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Ok, in case you all couldn't tell, this story is tracking the main events in Season 2. If you don't want spoilers, then I recommend watching Season 2 and ****_then_**** reading this fic. Actually, I recommend that anyway because a lot of seemingly random details actually refer to something that happened in the show, so it will just make more sense if you've seen it. Also, fair warning: lots of angst in the first half of this chapter.**

**D/C: I own nothing except my plot. Oh, and my O/C (who I'm growing to love more and more).**

* * *

Blaine sat on the plush bathmat in the Berrys' guest bathroom, his back resting against the cabinet doors beneath the sink. He took measured, stuttering breaths, and willed the tears from forming. He didn't want to cry, not again, and he swallowed back the thick constriction in his throat. Arching slightly, Blaine reached into the pocket of his jeans for his cell phone. He felt the tug of his belt on his hip bone and readjusted his pants before settling down again. This pair of jeans was too big on him, but they were better too big than too small. A belt could hold up too large jeans, but didn't do a damn thing to help if the pants were too tight.

Flipping open the phone, Blaine scrolled down to the second contact in his phone and hit the "Send" button. Squeezing his eyes shut he pressed the phone to his ear. He expected her to be mad. He hadn't actually listened to any of the messages, or bothered reading the texts. He hadn't been ready to talk to his friend and knew that checking the messages might make him feel guilty enough to call her anyway. Now, it didn't matter if he was ready, he needed to talk to somebody, and with Adam out of the picture, he only had one option left.

"_Blaine Anderson, where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick!"_

Blaine's jaw trembled at the sound of Bethany's voice. She didn't sound angry. She sounded scared as hell. He opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't find his voice.

"_Blaine? Blaine, please! Talk to me,"_ she pleaded.

He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and gritted his teeth. God he wanted to. He wanted to speak so badly that it hurt. He sucked in a breath, and let out a choked sound.

"_Blaine,_" she begged. "_Oh God, where are you? I'll come get you._"

Blaine could hear rustling and soft banging through the phone line and realized she was seriously gathering her stuff, probably shoving her wallet, keys, mace in her purse at that very moment. "Beth?" _God, I sound so weak_. "Don't. I don't need… I just need to hear your voice."

The sounds on Bethany's side of the line stopped. "_Oh, Blaine_," she breathed. "_I'm here – I'm right here. Just – tell me what happened._"

Blaine fought hard against the urge to cry. "Mom. She –" He struggled to find the words, and finally giving up, he told her, his voice small and shaking, "The f-funeral is Wednesday."

His friend responded with a shocked gasp. "_Oh God, was it Darrell?_" Blaine's eyes squeezed shut, a small pleading sound escaped his throat and he nodded before finally giving in to the thick urge to sob. He held the phone away from him as he tried to calm himself, tried to get himself under control. He could hear her voice coming through faintly from where he held the phone away from his ear, but only after he managed to take two full breaths did he pull the phone back to his ear with a trembling hand.

His friend had gone silent, but the line was still connected. After a minute he tried again. "Beth – can – can I see you then? W-will you come?"

"_Of course!_" she quickly replied. Blaine could hear a tremor in her voice. "_Of course I'll be there, baby. Just text me the details, okay?_"

Blaine nodded and sniffed in response.

For a moment both Bethany and Blaine said nothing, but then the girl on the other side of the line broke the silence. Carefully, she asked him, "_Do – do you want to come over? You know you can stay with me if you want._"

Blaine tried hard again to compose himself before answering her. "I know, Beth. I know, it's just – I'm not in Columbus right now. I'll – I can't really explain right now. I – I'll tell you everything Wednesday, ok?"

Blaine heard her attempt to cut him off, to ask more questions than he had the strength to answer, but in the end she accepted the promise for what it was. "_Okay,_" she agreed, reluctance clear in her tone. "_But if you need anything, Blaine…_"

The threatening tone made the corner of his mouth twitch. God, he loved his friend. "I'll call you. I know," he said, finishing the sentence for her.

"_Bye, Blaine_."

"Bye."

* * *

Neither Hiram nor LeRoy attempted to talk to Blaine again that night. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Hiram slipped upstairs after a while, only to hear the muffled sounds of what he assumed was a telephone conversation through the closed bathroom door. He didn't want to intrude, wanted to respect Blaine's privacy, sure, but part of him couldn't help but feel like he should at least make sure that Blaine was all right. He pressed his ear to the door and only heard a snippet or two. "…_really explain….tell you everything...I'll call you, I know…"_

Hiram decided he'd heard enough before heading off to bed. If Blaine wasn't relying on them, he was glad his son was reaching out to someone. It was only then that Hiram realized something, though – something he probably should have thought of long ago. He readied himself for bed and sat on the bed, his brow furrowed in thought. When LeRoy entered their bedroom, a tired sigh on his lips, Hiram looked up at his husband. "Am I a terrible father?"

LeRoy was so surprised by that he halted midstep and actually _laughed_. "Of course not, Hiram. Why would you ask me that?"

Hiram sighed. He closed his eyes when he felt the bed shift under LeRoy's weight and melted into the embrace his husband offered. "I never even thought about his friends. I've been so focused on incorporating him into our lives here I never thought about the life we practically _tore_ him from."

"Oh, honey, don't you think that's a little – well, _dramatic?_"

Hiram glared briefly up at LeRoy. "_No._" He didn't appreciate the implication that he was over-reacting. "He has friends. Or at least a friend. Maybe a girlfriend? I don't know. I came up to talk to him and heard him on the phone. There are people he's leaving behind. I didn't even think about how he might feel."

LeRoy was frowning now, and not knowing what to say, he merely pressed a kiss to Hiram's hair. They'd figure it out. Between them all, they'd find a way to make it work. They just had to.

* * *

Tuesday passed like a blur for Blaine. Neither Hiram nor LeRoy attempted to have another heart-to-heart, and Hiram left Blaine pretty much to his own devices while busying himself in some of the more public areas of the house. Blaine just stayed in his room until and unless Hiram knocked on his door to announce that a meal was on the table. Hiram wondered what Blaine was doing, sure, but knew that just coming out and asking would probably get him nowhere fast with the boy.

Instead, Hiram stuck to lighter topics, reverting back to superficial one-sided conversation. He'd learned that even Blaine's non-answers could tell him a lot about the boy. Hiram could say with some certainty that Blaine liked music, sports, and the color blue. He also had a serious dislike of mushrooms, which Hiram noticed when he'd picked all the mushrooms out of his lasagna the first night, and of nicknames. There was more, of course, but little by little, Hiram was getting to know Blaine and his preferences – something he considered a major accomplishment.

"So I was thinking," Hiram said casually while he watched Blaine poking unenthusiastically at the chicken on his plate. "that maybe if you wanted to meet up with any of your friends while we're in Columbus tomorrow…"

For the first time since the start of their mid-day meal, Blaine looked up, his eyes locked sharply on Hiram, as if he was trying to figure something out. Hiram continued assembling a forkful of his lunch. "LeRoy and I could find something to do for a bit. Or if you'd rather not tomorrow, we could always take a weekend and go, or LeRoy and I can bring you with us the next time LeRoy goes down to Columbus for business." He looked over at Blaine with a hopeful smile. "We'll follow your lead, bud-_Blaine_," he quickly corrected and smiled apologetically. "Whatever you want to do is fine with us." Hiram returned to his meal but kept an eye on Blaine out of the corner of his eye. Blaine stared hard at him, and for a long second said nothing, but then his brows twitched together and he looked away nodding. He breathed out a quiet, "sure," that sounded halfway between sincere and sarcastic before going back to pushing his dinner around his plate. Hiram smiled, and logged that conversation as a complete and utter success. He couldn't _wait _to tell LeRoy.

* * *

Rachel was mortified. "Wait, Mr. _Shue_ is going to play Rocky?" Kurt couldn't help but overhear and think to himself if Mercedes was in her shoes, it would have been a ripe occasion for a patented "Hell-to-the-No." Rachel just buried her face in her hands. Sam looked like he was at a loss for words and just hung his head, crossing his arms protectively over his middle. "But I have to do a _love scene_ with him, oh my God." She took in an audible breath and continued, clearly talking to herself, "Just breathe, Rachel, breathe. You can do this. You're an actress. This is what you were _born_ to do." She trilled the word, set a determined expression on her face, and stomped her way to the stage.

Even standing on the side-lines – or rather, in front of a nearby vanity – Kurt couldn't help but find something _wrong_ with the situation. Sure, ok, Rachel had a crush on Mr. Shue the previous year, but she was still a teenager. He was an adult, and old enough to be her unwed teenage father, at least. But the person Kurt really felt sorry for was Sam. He lowered the makeup sponge in his hand and glanced over at the blond boy. Sam was standing in front of a mirror three vanities down, holding up his shirt with one hand and pinching the skin off his abs with the other. Kurt's eyes drifted down to his rock-hard abdomen and couldn't help but stare. Sam turned and he lifted his eyes quickly, then turned away, blushing, and returned to the task of applying his make-up, hoping beyond hope that Sam would just forget he'd even been looking.

"Am I that hideous?"

Kurt's gaze snapped to meet Sam's, his eyes widening. The look on Sam's face and the tone of his voice spoke to Kurt of honest worry, and the panicky flutter in Kurt's chest, the one he always got when he realized he'd been staring at a boy who might not like it, waned just a little bit. Kurt (who at that point looked a lot more like Riff Raff than Kurt) looked over his shoulder to see if Sam could possibly be speaking to someone else, but the rest of the Glee Club members had almost all headed out to the stage for rehearsal by then. Turning back to Sam, Kurt's eyebrows furrowed at the boy's sullen expression. "No," he choked out quietly. He cleared his throat and tried again, "No, not at all. I – I think you made a great Rocky for what it's worth."

As soon as he heard the words come out of his own mouth, Kurt winced and turned back to his mirror. Sam said nothing back, though when Kurt glanced over at him again to see Sam looking away, he noticed the blond boy's lips were turned up into a slight smile as he lowered his shirt and smoothed it out.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks again to all of you who've favorited or followed this story, and thanks again to everyone who's reviewed. We get to meet Blaine's friend Bethany in this chapter, and I'd really like to hear what you all think of her. In fact, I'd really like to hear what you think, ****_period_****. Please R&R. Even if it's just a few words. :)**

**D/C: I claim ownership over the plot and my dear O/Cs only. Everything else is only borrowed.**

* * *

Blaine fisted and tugged unconsciously at the hem of his suit jacket. He'd tried steeling himself, and even had himself convinced the whole way down to Columbus that he'd be able to keep from crying during the service, but the moment he exited the Berrys' car, clad in his new black suit with a gray and black tie, his hair lightly gelled (LeRoy's suggestion), Blaine had felt a spike in his anxiety. He didn't know what to expect. He didn't know how these things were supposed to go, or where he'd sit, and for one horrible moment, the memory of his mother's bruised and bloodied face flashed in his mind's eye and he was scared that he would see that face again, that _everyone _would see it. The thought made him feel horribly nauseous as he approached the doors of the funeral home. His legs felt like jelly and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to run as fast and far away as he could.

The thought was broken by the sound of his name. "Blaine!" The teen boy turned on his heel, and so did the Berry men. His eyes landed on the figure of a tall, lanky girl waving at him. He barely spared LeRoy and Hiram a glance before breaking ranks and jogging towards her. Her own pace quickened and she skipped a little as she made her way over to him. "Blaine," she groaned as she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

Blaine had the wind practically knocked out of him by her enthusiasm, but caught her embrace and squeezed back, only pulling away when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He broke the hug and turned around. LeRoy pointed to an empty area near the front door. "We'll be right over there, Blaine," he said gently, then turning eyes on the girl he held out his hand to her. "Hello, I'm LeRoy Berry, and this is Hiram," he introduced himself, gesturing to his husband. Blaine noticed LeRoy left out the nature of their relationship, and something akin to guilt pricked at his stomach.

Bethany looked between Blaine and the two older men. "Um, hi," she said uncertainly, and took LeRoy's offered hand.

"This is Bethany," Blaine chimed in with a murmur.

LeRoy and Hiram merely smiled at her. "Nice to meet you, Bethany." Then, with a nod at Blaine, LeRoy turned, placed a hand on Hiram's shoulder, and walked with his husband toward the door.

Bethany was a tall girl – almost as tall as Blaine without her heels, which she'd opted against for the funeral. Her shoulder-length hair was blonde with red low-lights today, though neither Blaine nor Bethany really knew what her natural color was anymore. Her features weren't what anyone would deem extraordinary, with brown eyes, a slight upturn to her nose, and thin lips, but the freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks had always stood out to Blaine as something beautiful.

Bethany hated her freckles.

Blaine buried his hands in his pockets, because he knew his friend well enough to know she wouldn't hold back her questions for long. "Friends of yours?" she asked, a tint of concern to her voice. Blaine glanced at the pair and sighed, but shook his head.

"They, that is – social services –"

Bethany sucked in a breath, her eyes widening slightly. They _knew_ kids in foster care, and some of the stories they'd heard were enough to scare her out of ever reporting her own parents, or Blaine's, even if they might have deserved it.

But Bethany wasn't prepared for what he actually told her.

"- they found my dad. Or – _dads_," he said, rolling his eyes.

Bethany stepped into Blaine and gripped his arm with her hand. "Are you serious?" She looked over at the Berrys, and Hiram pretended not to notice. "I thought your dad left? You never told me he was gay." Blaine winced.

"Is it that obvious?"

Bethany gave him a look as if to say, _are you seriously asking me that?_

Blaine simply sighed and his friend's expression softened.

"So – what does this mean?" she asked quietly.

Blaine avoided her eyes and shrugged. "It means I live in Lima, now." His answer came out far more bitter than he intended, but then, he _was_ bitter. He was bitter that he had no choice in the matter. He was bitter that there was any reason for him to live in Lima at all.

Worry flashed across Bethany's face. "Will I get to see you again?"

Blaine felt a clench in his heart. She sounded so _sad._ Without thinking he pulled a hand from his pocket and took her hand firmly. "Of course you will. I'll visit. I'll find a way to come down here, and you can come see me in Lima." He attempted a small smile and she met it with one of her own. With a forlorn glance at the building behind him he took a bracing breath. "Come on. We should get inside." He sounded stronger than he'd felt before she showed up. It was easier being stronger for someone else than for himself and now that Bethany was here, he could focus on being strong for _her_, even if both of them knew it was Blaine who needed strength, not her.

Bethany simply nodded and the pair set off hand-in-hand towards the place where the Berrys were waiting.

* * *

Later on, Blaine wouldn't remember anything about the service except three things. First, the way the casket looked – dark and polished, and nicer than anywhere else his mother and he had ever lived. His fear of seeing his mother looking the way she had in the hospital was unfounded since, as it turned out, his mother's family didn't want to pay the extra to make her presentable. The casket was closed from the start. Second, he'd remember the sharp pain that jabbed at his chest the moment the lector described his mother… "_devoted daughter, loving mother…" _He'd remember the anger when no one around them seemed to even question it. And lastly, he'd remember the feel of Bethany's hand in his, sure and firm, grounding him to her, if nothing else.

She squeezed and clasped his hand in both of hers, then offered him a reassuring smile. She knew. She knew the truth and he wasn't alone in that. She was there and even if the small room packed with strangers thought the world of his mother, it was ok with Bethany if he didn't. But more than that, it was ok with Bethany if he loved her anyway. There wasn't even a hint of judging in that smile and Blaine, hovering somewhere between numbness and feeling on the verge of tears, felt his position grow even more precarious.

He opted to let his mind retreat, to let the pain lock itself away in a tiny box in the darkest recesses of his brain so that, for now at least, he could simply survive. The rest of the service passed by him as if he was watching from the other side of a screen. He felt removed from it, from everyone, save for the girl who gripped his hand like it belonged to her. Blaine barely registered that the service was over until he felt Bethany gently tug at his arm. He realized then that she'd been trying to get his attention. "We need to go, B." It took a second, but Blaine simply nodded and stood. He walked beside her all the way to the parking lot, rubbing his eyes and blinking when the sun suddenly invaded his vision. He didn't notice the figure waiting for him – for _them_ – with narrowed eyes and a cigarette tucked between his lips.

* * *

_Stop it, Kurt. This is ridiculous. He's _straight_!_

Kurt struggled to keep his eyes on the front of the room, to ignore the blond Adonis, but no amount of silent berating could keep his focus off of Sam for long. His eyes seemed drawn of their own accord to where his friend was sitting bent low over the French test that Kurt had completed 20 minutes ago. From where he sat, he could see the side of Sam's face, the way his brows furrowed deeply in concentration, the way his lips danced around soundless words as he read each sentence mock-aloud to himself, the way he'd suck in his luscious bottom lip as he contemplated the answers. _God, what I wouldn't give to kiss those lips…_

For a brief second the image passed across his mind's eye and Kurt started with a slight tremble and tore his eyes away from the blond. He could _not_ have these thoughts about _Sam_ of all people! Sam was _straight! _And probably dating Quinn Fabray, though like all Glee Club relationships, it was sort of unclear to him what their relationship status really was. Those sorts of things changed far too frequently to really keep up with, honestly.

Still, whatever was going on with Sam, it was going on between Sam and Quinn, and Kurt knew – he'd known for quite a while, in fact – that there was no chance whatsoever of anything going on between Sam and Kurt. Finn had made that perfectly clear. Kurt glared at the back of the test paper on his desk, impatiently tapping the pads of two slender fingers against the top of his desk as he waited for the period to end.

Kurt felt someone's gaze on him and he instantly lifted his own to see who was looking at him. His eyes locked briefly with Sam's. The blond's expression was unreadable, but for a second, he actually held Kurt gaze and smiled – actually _smiled _at him before turning back to his test. Kurt was dumbstruck. There wasn't any reason Sam would be looking at him unless – did he have something on his face? Kurt reached up a hand and ran it lightly over the skin of his face. _Or maybe he heard me tapping my fingers? Or – oh God, what if he caught me staring?_

Kurt felt himself start to panic before he remembered the smile. If he had caught Kurt looking he wouldn't have smiled, right? _Right._ Unless Sam was gay. Unless Sam was interested in Kurt. But even though the idea would have made his stomach flip this same time last year, he'd grown up a lot since then. He understood now that it wouldn't actually matter if Sam was gay. It wouldn't matter if Sam was crushing on him as much as he crushed on Sam. Because at the end of the day, it changed nothing. Kurt was the only gay guy brave enough to be out and _proud_ at McKinley High. He was the only one brave enough to have a crush on a guy and _act_ on it. So even if there were ten or twenty or _fifty_ guys that _all _had crushes on Kurt (he scoffed silently at the thought, _as if that would ever happen_), he'd still be all alone.

Though he'd never have told his dad, with every slushie and locker slam, Kurt was getting closer to wishing he'd never come out in the first damn place. Sure, he was proud, but pride didn't save him from bullies, and bravery didn't make him any less lonely. In fact, he felt more alone now than ever before. Now, sitting in French class and waiting for the bell to finally ring, he thought about how hopeless it really was that he'd find any happiness at McKinley, and just felt _sad_.

* * *

**A/N: Uh-oh, someone's waiting for Blaine in the parking lot. Any guesses as to who it might be? :D**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hello, lovely readers! In this chapter we're introduced to someone new (and kind of mean!). I'd intended to include a name and an explanation in this chapter, but in the end I decided not to. I'll reveal his identity next chapter, but I'd love to hear your speculation on who the new guy is and what's got Blaine all worked up!**

**D/C: I won't keep repeating myself. We all know the drill. This whole story is based on Glee and uses Glee characters, neither of which I own.**

* * *

Neither Hiram nor LeRoy had any idea how things turned South so quickly. One moment they were heading back to their vehicle, the outside air heavy with melancholy, and the next, all hell broke loose and they were physically restraining their son, holding him back by the arms as he cursed and fought like a rabid wolf to free himself of their grip. LeRoy and Hiram were no bodybuilders, but they were two grown men, and Blaine was shorter and smaller than either of them individually. Still, even together and with Bethany helping from the front to talk him down with hands on his chest, the small-statured teen was giving them all a run for their money.

Neither LeRoy nor Hiram had to say it, but they both knew that they each felt equally shocked and terrified. "Blaine, please, just calm _down_," Hiram pleaded, the panic clear in his tone as he leaned back, straining to keep a solid grip on Blaine as he yanked his arms violently. They'd never seen him like this. They'd never seen him so filled with rage, so singularly focused on an individual target.

From less than 10 feet away a brooding man with gaunt features, stringy brown hair and a brown goatee paced back and forth. The stranger's blue eyes were fixed on Blaine. Hiram could see nothing but veiled hatred in those eyes as a bruise blossomed on the stranger's cheek from the single punch Blaine was able to land before his family had descended on him to pull him off and get between him and the stranger.

"Beth, get out of my _way!_" growled Blaine through clenched teeth, but his fierce rage was focused on the man and not on Beth. "_You bastard!_" The Berry men stumbled a bit, nearly loosing footing as Blaine gave another violent jerk with his arms. "I'll fucking _kill you!_"

Bethany started crying in earnest. "Blaine, please, just listen to me. We can go – let's just _go_, let's just go," she begged.

Blaine continued to bellow, "This is your fault! You did this. I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!"

"_Blaine!_ Blaine, just _stop!_" LeRoy said.

The stranger spit on the ground. "You have no idea what you're talking about, you little pervert. I didn't lay a finger on that bitch."

Blaine just struggled harder now. "_Liar!_"

The stranger stopped pacing and leaned forward. "You don't know a damn thing! You can't prove a damn thing!"

The Berrys had no idea what sparked the exchange, had no idea who this man even was. They'd simply seen their son take off in a sprint and launch his fist at the man. They'd acted on instinct. They were terrified, both for Blaine and for themselves, but luckily their adrenaline coursed as quickly as Blaine's and they were able to keep the struggling boy from breaking their hold.

"You stay the hell away from me! You stay the hell away!"

Blaine's voice was starting to strain and crack.

The stranger glared at him and hissed in annoyance. "Fine. _Whatever_," he spat scathingly, raising his hands in mocking surrender as he started stepping away. "I should have known you'd turn out a fucking pussy like your bitch mother. You were always a worthless, ungrateful little _shit_. She should have put your faggot ass down when she had the chance," he hissed.

Blaine was struggling. He wanted to kill him, to tear the bastard limb from limb, but he couldn't move, he couldn't break free from his fathers' holds. LeRoy yanked Blaine back and stepped out as if to put himself between Blaine and the man. He wanted to yell, he wanted to scream at that bastard to never talk about his son that way again, but Hiram pulled him back with his frightened tone, "LeRoy, _don't_."

Blaine barely noticed, though. For Blaine, everything was red and his pulse pounded loudly in his ears. He couldn't shut him up, he couldn't run away – he had no choice – he had no choice but to stand there and _take it_. And as his adrenaline started to dissipate, every angry feeling and every ounce of self-loathing started rising quickly to the surface.

His mother was dead, the bastard that killed her got to _walk_, and what about him? What about Blaine? He was trapped, bound and gagged and forced to just _take_ the abuses hurled his way. He didn't even realize angry tears were streaming down his cheeks as the stranger turned his leather-clad back to the little group to leave. Blaine just watched him retreat, heard his heavy, booted footsteps grow fainter, watched the figure grow smaller and turn the corner and disappear from view, and the farther away he got, the more that Blaine felt the fight begin to drain.

Finally, he was gone, and Blaine had pretty much stilled where he stood, his eyes wide and unfocused as the devastating reality came crashing over him, and when Blaine's face scrunched and he drew his palms to his eyes, then carded his trembling fingers through his hair, he met no real resistance from the Berrys, who though they still had a hold on either side of him, had slackened their grip as Blaine had settled from a violent, raging animal to a restless, frenetic mess. They had no reason to hold him back, the object of Blaine's all-consuming anger having gone, but for some reason they felt like completely letting go of him would be a bad idea, as if the boy might fall into a heap if the pair and Bethany weren't there to prop him up.

LeRoy and Hiram exchanged a glance. Hiram's eyes were wide with worry and fright. LeRoy's were narrowed, a quiet seething anger residing behind them. Hiram's brows furrowed as if contemplating some message that no one else could read or hear. Bethany just shook and sobbed quietly, her hands still clasping the front of Blaine's shirt, and the boy with red-rimmed eyes, who only seemed to just then notice or see her, moved to wrap his arms around his friend.

She grasped onto him tightly as he softly shushed her. "It's ok, Beth. It's fine. I'm fine." And at that, the girl inhaled a hiccupping sob and buried her face in the shoulder of his jacket. The Berry men finally let Blaine go, though LeRoy kept one hand in contact with Blaine's back.

LeRoy had wanted nothing more than to beat the living crap out of that guy with the too-long-hair and stupid goatee. _How dare he say those things about my _son_!_ But he'd kept himself in check. He'd had to, as painful as it was, because they couldn't get arrested, couldn't risk Blaine getting hurt, and even enraged, LeRoy knew there would be nothing holding Blaine back from keeping his promise to kill the man if not for him and his husband physically restraining him. So he'd stopped himself. But now, as he was left standing in a funeral home parking lot, with his free hand clenched to stop it from trembling so violently, he wanted to know who the hell it was who'd said those things, who'd spoken those horrible words. And moreover, _why_?

"Blaine," he began, his tone pleading for an answer before the question was even out. "Who was –"

But Blaine cut him off.

"Can we just go?" he interrupted quickly, his narrowed gaze whipping around to focus on LeRoy. There was anger there, annoyance. A little hurt, too. But LeRoy saw a flash of vulnerability, too. "_Please_," Blaine tried again, the desperation he felt now cracking his tone. "Let's just go."

LeRoy looked as if he were about to answer, but then he and Hiram looked at each other, and by the time he'd turned his eyes back on Blaine his mouth was resolutely closed. He simply nodded. And inside, Blaine felt a sudden wave of relief and guilt that very nearly overflowed the dam.

* * *

Kurt put on his best bitch face, held his head high, and strutted down the hall with a steady glare that swept over the mass of nameless students. It was his mask. It the costume he wore when beneath that, beneath that thin, outer layer, he was terrified. His pulse quickened and his bitch glare doubled as a warning and a way to keep an eye on as many people in the halls with him as possible.

"Hey, Kurt, wait up!"

The teen boy's breath hitched and he whipped around, startled for only a split-second out of his façade before the mask fell smoothly over his features again. His eyes locked on a grinning blond boy jogging towards him with a book and notebook tucked in his hand. Kurt tightened his grip on the books he held hanging at his front as Sam pulled up next to him and clapped him on the back.

Kurt shuddered, and a mild panic started swirling in his chest when Sam kept his hand on Kurt's shoulder as they started walking (not that Sam's momentum gave him much choice). He turned his head away from Sam to catch a glipse of his hand in the corner of his eye before looking over at the other singer. God, he was so close, his lips were so close and his arm was draped around him like Puck's whenever the mohawked teen was leading him to the dumpsters… _No, don't think about it!_ he chided himself. And that's when he realized Sam was talking to him.

"So I just wanted to thank you for yesterday, Kurt. It was really nice of you to say all that stuff. I mean, you didn't really have to, and the other Glee guys sort of told me the same thing but it kinda means more coming from you cause like, you're a dude that likes other dudes…" Sam furrowed his brow as he said it, like he was trying to sort out if he'd said what he was trying to express, but seemed oblivious to the danger of talking about these sorts of things in the open – with people _watching_. Kurt felt his cheeks color and he stopped walking to turn towards Sam.

"_Sam_," he said, with a nervous glance at a group of girls that seemed to be whispering to each other and over to a Rugby player who seemed to have taken notice of them as well. His eyes locked back on Sam. "Are you sure you want to be discussing this now? Here?"

Sam straightened his stance, his brow furrowing further. "What do you mean?"

Kurt coughed up a nervous laugh. "I – I just –"

"_Sam!"_

Both Kurt and Sam whipped their heads around at the sound of Quinn Fabray's voice. The cheerleader had a fierce expression on her face and she approached the pair with folded arms. Her lips spread into a smile but her eyes stayed narrowed as she looked between the pair.

Kurt caught and held her gaze. She held out a hand to Sam and wiggled her dainty fingers. "Come on, Sam," she said in a softened tone. "Walk me to class." She then smiled indulgently at the blond.

Kurt looked at him and he saw the dopey smile that had spread across his features. Kurt heard him stutter, "okay," in response. His eyes widened slightly. "I'll catch you later, Kurt," he said and without really looking for or waiting on a response, he led the girl away. Their hands swung loosely between them and he felt the flush rising again when Quinn shot him one last glare over her shoulder. _Stay away from my boyfriend_, it was saying. Kurt felt his anger rise as he gave his surroundings a quick once over and headed on his way. _Thanks, bitch, I hear you loud and clear._


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: And then she said, "Let there be drama!" And there was drama. And it was good. Please review! :D**

**Warning: Mentions of domestic violence.**

* * *

It was only after a long hug that Bethany reluctantly left the backseat of the Berrys' Prius. "Thanks for the ride," she said quietly, addressing the car's occupants in general. Then, with her hand still clutching the edge of the door, she focused on Blaine. "You'll call me," she said, a command rather than a request. She was worried, and Blaine knew it. He swallowed back his nerves and nodded, forcing a smile for Bethany's sake, though they both knew she wasn't convinced. With a thoughtful frown she nodded, and closed the door.

Blaine watched her walk away from him and into the school he _used_ to attend. She looked back no less than three times before finally entering the building. He hated watching her go, and something irrational clenched his gut as he tried to fight off the fear that he might not see her again. He didn't have time to follow that train of thought to the end of the line before his attention was ripped away by the sound of the engine cutting off. He looked up, startled, his eyes wide for the moment that he saw the Berrys looking at one another. But then they looked at him, and Blaine raised his walls quickly – almost too quickly for either man to catch the flash of fear in his eyes before it was gone. Every cell was on high alert, and his hand clenched the armrest on the door as his eyes narrowed in question and challenge.

"Blaine," LeRoy began. His features started twisting with what looked to Blaine like concern. "I know this probably isn't the most ideal place to talk about this…" He glanced at Hiram, who caught his eye and continued the thought.

"But your father and I – we need to know what happened back at the funeral home." Neither man missed the way Blaine tensed at the word.

"We understand you might not want to tell us everything," LeRoy added, "but you're our responsibility now."

"We need to know if you're in some kind of trouble."

"We can't help you unless you tell us the truth."

The men were trying to keep their own panic at bay, but Blaine was closing off more and more by the second. He crossed his arms protectively over his chest and his eyes flicked warily between the faces of the two men that looked at him from the space between the front seats.

Hiram looked at LeRoy, stifling a sigh, before tacking on what he meant as a reassurance. "We just want to know who that man today was and _why_ you were yelling at him." They waited, then. Both men waited. Blaine meanwhile, said nothing, and for a long minute just kept his eyes locked on them as if he was trying to size them both up, trying to figure out how to escape before they pounced.

"Are you gonna ground me or something? I'm not apologizing," he finally said. His jaw was set in determination. They could ground him, scream at him – hell, they could even beat him – but Blaine didn't back down easily. Judging from the instant shock in both men's faces, though, it wasn't what they were expecting to hear. That just confused Blaine more.

"Blaine, you're not in trouble here," Hiram told him gently. The man shifted and twisted in his seat so he could see the teen better.

LeRoy reassured him quickly, "No one's going to ground you."

"We just want the truth, ok?"

Blaine's eyes shifted between the two. His heartbeat quickened in his chest. He could almost hear the blood pound. Blaine sucked his lip into his mouth, frowning at the confusing turn of events. He tightened his hold on himself, and though his adrenaline was screaming, Blaine's eyes flicked away from the men and he forced the words from his throat. "His name is Darrell," the teen finally told them flatly. The words sounded rough and harsh, even to Blaine's own ears. "He and my mom – we lived with him," he explained, unable to find it in himself to say any more beyond that.

He didn't have to tell the older men what he meant, though. It was clear, if from nothing other than the way the teenager flinched when he paused, searching for how to explain the situation, that the man in the lot and Blaine's late mother had been involved in some romantic way. They waited, trying to give Blaine the space to say whatever he needed to say, but when nothing else came, LeRoy attempted a gentle prompt.

"Blaine," he started gently, cautiously. The boy visibly tensed, his eyes consciously dropping farther away from either Berry. "What did you mean when you said that that Darrell – 'did this'. Blaine, what did Darrell do?" Hiram waited on bated breath, not trusting himself to intervene. His husband was all business now, having taken on the firm but gentle tone that Hiram had only ever heard him use in therapy sessions with his patients. LeRoy was totally focused on Blaine, though. Undeterred by Blaine's hesitation, he prodded carefully, "What was Darrell's fault?"

Blaine's jaw clenched. If he'd been on the outside looking in, he might have realized what they were doing. He might have called LeRoy out for trying to manipulate him into answering. As it was, he didn't know. He didn't realize there was anything different about the man's tone, but only that he could feel a small part of him _wanting_ to tell – _wanting_ to spill his secrets. He turned his angry glare on LeRoy and heat flushed his face as he felt the full impact of the Berrys' focus on him. Through clenched teeth, he bit out the words he'd been dying to say since the moment he learned of his mother's passing – the words that had churned away inside of him as the helplessness he felt in face of it ate at his heart. "He killed my _mother_."

* * *

Finn groaned miserably into the palms of his hands as Rachel, seated beside him on the stage steps rubbed all the way up and down the tall teen's back. "It's ok, Finn. No one blames you."

The boy let his hands drop to his lap and he let out a whining sigh. "I don't think they'll blame me, Rahel, but no one is _ever_ going to let me live it down. I can't _believe_ I thought walking down the hallway in my _underwear_ was going to make it better. It _didn't_. It doesn't matter how hot you think I am, Rachel. To the rest of the world, I'm just – _not_." Finn wrapped his arms around his middle, his shoulders sagging.

"Hey. Hey!" The girl gripped his biceps tightly, encouraging him to look at her. With her expression arranged to show him a perfect reflection of serious determination, Rachel locked her eyes on Finn's. "It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, Finn. _I _think you're hot. I think – I told you already, you're the hottest guy in the whole school. I don't ever want to be with anyone else because no one could ever be as hot as you."

Rachel could see the sadness in his eyes begin to soften, and she raised her other hand to his cheek. She lifted her chin a bit and let her eyes flutter closed, the invitation clear, and Finn, never one to turn down an opportunity offered, placed a soft, sweet kiss on Rachel's lips. The girl kissed back, her thumb stroking his cheek before pulling away. She smiled softly, then bit her lower lip. "Does that help you believe me?"

Finn nodded dumbly, his eyes flicking between her eyes and her lips as he wondered if she might not let him do that again. She did, in fact. Rachel pulled herself up to meet his lips again and pressed a feverish string of kisses to them. Finn responded by snaking his arms around her lower back to pull closer to him, or as close as sitting side-by-side would allow. His head was starting to swim, and he barely registered that Rachel had pulled away when she did. He opened his eyes and squinted at her questioningly.

"My dads are out of town today," she whispered breathily. "Maybe you could come over and I could show you just how hot I think you are." She bit her lip again, her flushed cheeks growing pinker. She wanted this – wanted time doing something that made her happy, made her feel good, and didn't remind her at all of her dads or her stupid brother. Finn's eyes widened a bit and he nodded eagerly, pointedly ignoring the niggling voice that reminded him, _you're still grounded_. After all, what his mother didn't know wouldn't hurt her. And if she found out, it would totally be worth it. That was his last thought before his eyes fluttered closed again and he dipped his head to capture his girlfriend in another steamy kiss, all thoughts of mothers and grounding completely forgotten.

* * *

To say that the Berrys were shocked would have been the understatement of the century. Even the careful façade of neutrality the pair of therapists usually maintained without issue had cracked, the shock plain in the widening of their eyes before the men exchanged a look and LeRoy sunk back in his seat.

After a good few minutes of silence during which Hiram attempted to gather himself, he finally turned his eyes on the teen. Blaine, he saw, had brought his knees up to his chest, his heels resting on the edge of the bench. He hugged his knees, hunching down over them, a position that made him look so suddenly young and vulnerable. He looked smaller that Hiram had ever realized, and he felt a painful pang in his heart. "Blaine, a-are you sure?"

But Hiram should have known. The blazing fury in Blaine's honey-colored eyes told both men there wasn't a question at all in the young boy's mind. Whether he was right was a totally separate issue. The bespeckled man attempted a quick recovery, "I mean – ok," he took a breath and looked to his husband for help. LeRoy looked between the two before letting his eyes settle still on Blaine.

"Blaine, what we mean to say is – can you tell us why, or, _how_ you know that?" The men watched him expectantly and Blaine grimaced before turning his angry eyes away. He said nothing. The men in the front exchanged a glance, Hiram asking silently, _what do we do?_ LeRoy just looked at him sadly and shrugged a single shoulder. He didn't have a clue how they should proceed.

Just as Hiram had opened his mouth to speak again, though, Blaine turned his eyes on them again, his features contorted, like he was battling with himself. "He beat the crap out of her," he finally told them icily. "He beat the crap out of her all the _fucking _time. And I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Because I was never enough for her." His eyes were growing red and it was only when he reached a hand to rub angrily at his cheek that either man realized their son was starting to cry, but they were frozen.

Blaine turned pointedly away from them and glared resolutely out the window. Meanwhile, Hiram's hand found LeRoy's, seemingly of its own volition, and he squeezed tightly. LeRoy clung back just as tightly. They hadn't expected this. No one had told them how the woman had passed away – simply that she had. The idea that someone had _done_ it to her had not occurred to them. Perhaps it should have. Perhaps they simply hadn't wanted to know. Hiram sniffed and clasped a hand over his mouth to muffle a stuttered breath as regret and guilt flooded the heart that was breaking for Blaine, for what his son must have seen in all those years they weren't around.

LeRoy turned watery eyes on his husband, who'd begun fanning away the tears. They locked glances. Hiram's eyes betrayed every thought in his head. It wasn't fair. If only they'd known. If only they'd known to protect him from this. LeRoy squeezed Hiram's hand. _No, don't think that way. It isn't your fault._ And that was the straw that broke the dam. Hiram let out a loud choked sob and LeRoy caught him up instinctively in his arms. "Shhhh," he shushed him quietly, rubbing gentle circles into his husband's back. The armrest between them was digging into his stomach, but he didn't dare move, not even to wipe away the silent tears streaking down his own cheeks.

With a sigh at the muffled whines his Hiram was emitting, LeRoy rested his head on Hiram's shoulder, his sad eyes landing lightly on the boy in the back. He expected the boy to be upset, to perhaps be pointedly ignoring their embarrassing display, but instead, to his mild surprise, he saw Blaine actually _looking _at them intently. Something nervous fluttered in LeRoy's chest as he straightened his head, his own expression reflecting the curious question he saw in Blaine's. It was as if the boy was not just looking in their direction, but really _seeing_. He was certainly seeing something – something that made him stop, something that stripped the anger from his expression. He was looking at something and if the inquisitiveness in his eyes was something to go by, he was trying to figure out _what_ or _how_ or _why._

LeRoy just wished he knew what the boy was seeing and what the question was that lay hidden behind his eyes, but something told him now was not the time for him to ask, because something told him that even if he did it wasn't likely that Blaine could even tell him.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Story's moving along now – so excited! Blaine's finally getting to meet some of Rachel's friends, though whether he'll be happy about it remains to be seen. ;)**

* * *

Finn lay beside Rachel on top of her twin-sized bed. They were fully clothed and kissing lazily, both happy and sated by the endorphins from their make-out session (during which Finn only had to think about running over that mailman three times to cool off – he was getting better at this). Night had fallen and the empty house was silent other than the sounds of shifting cloth and softly smacking lips. Rachel pulled away from Finn's lips and her eyelids fluttered open. She smiled at him from across the pillow, clutching gently to the cloth of his shirt. Finn offered her a lopsided smile in return.

"Are you hungry, Finn?" she asked him, her voice soft and sweet.

The boy's smile widened. "Would you believe me if I said 'no'?"

She laughed. "No, no I wouldn't." She leaned in for one more kiss when the sudden sound of a door slam and voices caused the girl to jump away and scramble to sit upright and flatten her hair. "They're back. Oh my God, they're back." Rachel lept to her feet. Finn propped himself up on his elbow and watched her, his brows furrowed in confusion.

The girl paced manically, muttering almost incoherently.

"Rachel?"

She stopped abruptly and looked at him, panic clear in her eyes, and made a quick move towards him. "Finn, you have to go, you have to just – go," she said pleadingly.

Finn sat upright, concern clear on his face. "Rachel, what is going on?" he asked her, his tone solid and commanding. This wasn't right. Something wasn't right. Rachel turned and sat on the edge of the bed, her hands coming up to cover her face.

For a second Finn panicked, his eyes widening when he thought Rachel might be crying, but then she took a deep breath and lowered her hands. Finn exhaled a sigh of relief when he saw her eyes were dry. He _hated_ when girls cried. Rachel avoided his eyes, though, looking down at her hands as she tugged on her fingers with her right hand. "I just – you remember that guy I told you about? The one my dads thought might be my brother?"

"Oh. Yeah – Blake... I forgot about him."

"Blaine," she corrected. "His name is Blaine." Her brows drew together and she dropped her hands to her lap. Then, she looked up at Finn. "I just really didn't want him to meet you yet - any of you. You're _my _boyfriend, Finn, and I just...I hate..."

"Hey, hey, none of that," he said. He cupped her face and stroked her hair gently, then placed a soft kiss on her lips. When Finn pulled back, though, his brows furrowed deeper, his expression shifting to something far more determined and sure. "I still can't believe they're making you live with him, Rachel," he grumbled after a moment. He lifted his eyes to look directly into hers. "Has he hurt you? Threatened you? I swear to God, Rachel, if he lays one finger on you…"

Rachel surged forward, muffling his words with a passionate kiss. She felt her heart swelling in her chest. This boy – this incredibly _hot_ boy, was ready to fight her own brother for her, and Rachel could hardly believe her luck that Finn Hudson – _the_ Finn Hudson – was her very own knight in shining armor. She pulled away, breathless, her lips spreading into a find smile. "My hero," she cooed, and Finn rewarded her with a dopey smile.

* * *

The ride back to Lima was almost completely silent. Blaine had already revealed far more than he'd intended to, and Hiram and LeRoy seemed unwilling to press for more details. Without conversation, Blaine was left to his thoughts, which for the majority of the ride, centered squarely around the unexpected scene he'd witnessed right before Hiram pulled himself together enough to swap seats with LeRoy. Now, the latter was driving, and Blaine was left to try and wade through is confusion.

Hiram had cried – full-on _sobbed_. He'd never seen something like it – never seen anyone over the age of 18 shed a single tear unless they were _female_. And what's more, this grown man had cried, and because of it, he'd been _comforted_. Who _did_ that? Men were not supposed to cry. Men – real men – could expect to get the crap beat out of them if they cried like little girls. And yet – his own – _sperm donors_ – were able to let themselves cry and actually comfort each other. And something was swirling around beside the confusion. Something that wasn't disgust or repulsion. It was – if Blaine was hearing it right – _jealousy_. Because why should they get to have that all and not him? Why should they get to cry and not him? Why did they have the right to be _happy_ – because even a blind man could see they were _crazy_ about each other – and not _him!?_

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he wasn't good enough, and more than the crying itself, and more than the wish that he could live a different life, Blaine was confused by the fact that crying had happened at all. What on Earth had driven his fa- er, the _Berrys_ – to tears? He hadn't expected compassion – hadn't expected anything close to empathy. He hated Darrell, hated himself, hated every man who'd played a part in tearing his life with his mother apart, and he was fucking _angry_ because of it. But all he'd ever gotten was anger right back – abuses right back. All he'd ever gotten was sneers and cruelty when his shell cracked and the slightest vulnerability made itself known. He'd waited for it from Hiram and LeRoy, knew the moment the words passed his lips (_I wasn't enough…_) that they were going to pounce on him, drive hooks into him in the places that he had grown too weary to cover with armor and tug and pull at his flesh until he was nothing but shreds of himself. He'd waited for it, expected it, knew the moment he lost control – the moment he grew too tired to hide it all – that it was a matter of time.

But instead they'd _cried_. They didn't tear him down. Instead they got so worked up they'd _cried_. And that was most confusing of all. It had shocked him, admittedly, and he didn't know what to do with the unexpected reactions.

Blaine was still lost in thought when they pulled into the large garage at the Berrys' home. He hadn't even realized that they were in Lima until they were already parking the car.

"You hungry, Blaine? You didn't really eat much when we stopped," Hiram asked as he clicked the seatbelt release. He smiled a sad, gentle smile at Blaine. Blaine blinked at him from beneath furrowed brows.

He cleared his throat, opening it as if he was poising to speak, but closed it straight away. He shrugged. Hiram's smile faltered for only a moment. "Well, I'll make you something and you can eat as much or as little as you feel like, ok?" Blaine thought about it, and finding nothing wrong with the suggestion, was forced to nod his agreement. He tugged on the door handle, letting himself out of the car, but not before reaching back into the car for his tie and jacket. He'd taken them off shortly after the group had set off towards Lima. Though his dress shirt was still tucked into his pants, unbuttoning the first two buttons and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt (which would wrinkle terribly, he was sure of it) helped him forget for a bit why they'd gone to Columbus at all.

With his jacket and tie draped over his arm, Blaine followed Hiram and LeRoy in silence, barely acknowledging them when LeRoy reached to take his jacket. "Why don't I take these from you. I'll hang it up in the laundry room for now. Once you've changed out of those clothes we'll set the whole suit aside for drycleaning." Blaine followed the movement of his lips and the sound coming out of LeRoy's mouth. He watched the man smile at him before heading off to the laundry room – as if talking so casually about the suit was normal. As if he hadn't been wearing it at his mother's funeral. As if his mother weren't dead. Standing alone in the living room, Blaine carded his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. He needed out of these clothes.

On his way up the stairs and past Rachel's room, he could have sworn he heard more than one voice on the other side of the door, but didn't stop to listen. After all, what did _he_ care if Little Miss Perfect had friends in her room. Maybe he could just stay in his room for the rest of the night, avoid everyone, Rachel & Co. included. But as he worked his fingers down the buttons of his shirt, his stomach gave a loud protesting rumble, effectively putting an end to that thought. Hiram was cooking for him, and even if going to bed hungry was always an option, for whatever reason, he felt being straight-up _rude_ was not. Not if he didn't want to give the men a reason to change their minds about cooking for him sooner rather than later.

Blaine tugged on a pair of sweats and a faded t-shirt from when he'd been on an amateur basketball team. Back then, he wasn't so obviously shorter than all the boys. And even so, the shirt had swallowed him. Now it fit just a little snugly across the chest.

Carefully folded pants and dress shirt draped on his arm, he checked for his phone in his pocket, then headed out of his room.

* * *

The Berrys, as usual, were gracious and welcoming when the saw he was there with Rachel. They didn't seem any different than before. And when he first entered the kitchen, trailing slightly behind his girlfriend, his hand linked in hers, he noticed there wasn't even a hint that anyone new was even in the house. Hiram had only just asked him if he wanted to eat anything, and he was about to respond with a 'yeah, sure!' when he heard footsteps and an unfamiliar voice behind him.

"Where do you want me to put these?"

Finn whipped around, his eyebrow raised, to see a dude that was almost as short as Rachel, holding up black pants and a white dress shirt for LeRoy to see.

"Oh, here, I'll take them. Laundry room's just through this door here, though, for future reference."

It took Finn a second to realize this curly-haired dude was looking at him, only averting his gaze to nod his understanding to LeRoy before looking back at him. _This is him? This is the drug dealing gang-banger? I could break him in half with one hand_, Finn thought. Finn wasn't sure what he was expecting, exactly, but he knew it wasn't this. He was brought out of his head by a hand on his biceps. He looked over at a smiling LeRoy. "Finn, I don't believe you've had a chance to meet our son, Rachel's brother. This is Blaine Anderson," he said, gesturing with the clothes-laden hand. He completely missed the involuntary flinch Blaine gave at the titles of _son_ and _brother_. "Blaine, this is Finn, Rachel's boyfriend." If it was even possible, LeRoy's smile seemed to widen with pride at that. "I'm sure Rachel's filled you in, Finn?" He patted the tall teen on the arm before turning his hand on his daughter and pinching her cheek affectionately. She smiled and accepted a kiss from her dad on her other cheek before he headed towards the laundry room.

Finn focused a narrowed gaze on Blaine, who he noticed hadn't moved from the spot. "Yeah, she filled me in all right," he said, his tone lighter than the disdain in his eyes. Blaine's own expression twisted slightly, his glare growing cold and wary, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

Behind him, Rachel was starting to give off nervous energy as she watched the exchange. Blaine's jaw clenched like he was holding back a response and Hiram saved him from having to give one in any event. "Why don't you kids grab some plates, huh? Soup's up," he announced, turning a wide grin on the whole set of them.

"Actually, Mr. Berry, I should really get going. My mom's expecting me home," said Finn, only turning his eyes on Hiram at the last moment. "Thanks for the invite though."

LeRoy returned, and Hiram simply renewed his warm smile at Finn. "Of course, Finn. Any time."

Finn said quick goodbyes, then held his hand out for Rachel. "Walk me out?" he asked her quietly, and the girl nodded. Finn then drew himself up to his full height, his eyes locking on Blaine as he walked by, moving closer to the smaller boy than necessary, forcing him to back up against the refrigerator. "See you around, Blaine," he said smoothly, though his voice didn't carry an ounce of warmth. He smirked at himself as he passed, pleased with the boy's reaction when he saw what he could have sworn was a flicker of fear in the other boy's eyes. _Good_, he thought to himself. _Now you'll think twice before messing with Rachel._

* * *

**A/N: Uh-oh! Scary, protective Finn leaving poor Blaine unsettled. I'm curious to know, though – what do you think about this side of Finn? Want to see more of it? Less of it? And how do you think the other members of New Directions will act towards Blaine – any guesses? Feedback is Love, people! :P**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I've said it before, but I just want to say again – THANK YOU to all of you who have favorited or followed my story. I'm taking each favorite or follow to mean "Hey! I kind of like your story!" so I really appreciate the compliments, guys. :) This chapter's a bit of a filler to help move the plot along and show us where our main characters are at. Next chapter, we'll be meeting someone new – or rather, ****_Blaine_**** will. So stay tuned. ;)**

* * *

Blaine slept fitfully Wednesday night. Around 3:00 he woke up suddenly, sitting bolt upright to find himself soaked in sweat and gasping for breath. Calloused fingers rubbed at his tingling throat, his skin remembering even after the dream had faded. His entire body trembled from the memory of the pain his dream subjected him to, and soon, his cheeks began to ache, straining as he fought the urge to sob aloud. Warm tears tracked down his face and the boy turned carefully to bury his face in the pillow, to muffle the whimpers. He must have fallen asleep again after a while because he awoke to dimmed sunlight filtering through his blinds. Closing his eyes resolutely, he tried to will himself back to sleep, but after a while gave up with a huff. He pushed himself to sitting. His muscles ached. He felt more tired in the morning than he had the night before.

He checked the clock on his phone and once certain it was late enough that he wouldn't see Rachel, he set about pulling on jeans before heading to breakfast. As usual, Hiram and LeRoy were both at the table. It seemed like no matter how late Blaine got up, the pair was determined to be in the kitchen and ready with food. Hiram lowered his coffee cup and greeted the teen with a smile. "Good morning, Blaine." That caused LeRoy to raise his eyes from the paper he was reading.

LeRoy smiled, too and closed the newspaper, as if any news he might be reading could wait now Blaine was there. "Hey, Blaine, sleep well?"

Blaine shrugged, his responsive 'good morning' now lodged in his throat. He swallowed it back. "Fine," he murmured and took a seat at the table. There was already a bowl and two types of cereal to choose from, milk, and fruit laid out for him. He proceeded to pour himself a bowl of cheerios, then tugged a banana off the bunch.

"So we were thinking, Blaine," Hiram began cautiously. Blaine looked up from where he was pouring milk into his cereal. "We'll need to decide what to do about school."

"We understand if you aren't ready," LeRoy cut in quickly.

"But either way, we need to come up with a plan. McKinley's the local high school. It's where Rachel goes. And Finn. So you'd at least have some people there that you know." Blaine's eyebrows just furrowed at that, though he stared resolutely at his glass of milk as the men spoke.

"But if you aren't ready to go back to school yet, we're willing to home-school for a while – if that's something you'd prefer." LeRoy reached towards him and patted the tabletop near his hand. Blaine watched this and drew his own hand away slowly. LeRoy frowned lightly and straightened up in his seat, withdrawing his hand as he did.

Hiram glanced at his husband nervously, then back at Blaine. "I think it might be good for you to be around other people your own age, though. Get out there. Make new friends," he tried encouragingly. "Surely, you don't want to be cooped up in this house all the time with a pair of old fuddy-duddies." The self-deprecating tone earned Hiram the slightest twitch of a smile and the man smiled warmly, pleased with himself.

When Blaine said nothing for a while, Hiram pressed on, "I've already asked for copies of your records from your old school, and…" He stopped, taken aback when Blaine's eyes suddenly flew up to meet Hiram's, holding his gaze for a second before dropping away, brows furrowing deeper than ever.

LeRoy seemed to catch on quickly despite Blaine's silence on the matter. "We won't judge you, Blaine," he said softly. Blaine lifted his head to direct a fierce, challenging glare at LeRoy. "If that's what you're worried about." Blaine barely suppressed a scoff at that as he looked back down at his food.

Sensing the tension, Hiram attempted to steer the conversation back on track. "What we really need to know is if you want to go to school with Rachel and Finn or if you'd rather explore alternatives."

Blaine slipped his left hand around his middle and stabbed at his cereal with his spoon. For a long beat he said nothing. Then, he finally spoke, the answer blunt and carefully chosen since it didn't really address the question asked. "I don't want to be home-schooled," he told them. And that, the Berrys supposed, was as close to agreement to go back to public school as they would get.

* * *

The sound of loud, clanging metal cut through the rising and falling din of conversation and laughter. and barely anyone batted an eye. Pain shot through Kurt's shoulder and spread down his spine and he winced, hissing, as he tried to steady himself and cradle the impacted shoulder. He turned quickly, his expression part hurt and part disbelief – because even after all this time he didn't, _couldn't_ understand it – to see an angry furrow deepen in Karofsky's brow. "Quit breathing my air, Fairy," the bully ground out as he walked away.

A cold chill shuddered up Kurt's spine, dulling the pain as he recognized the feeling as fear. His eyes followed the bigger boy until he was out of sight. The danger lessened now, Kurt swallowed, then looked around quickly. He was shaking. He felt himself shaking, and noticed that no one around him even looked his way. Not one person even noticed him, _or_ the fact that his shoulder was throbbing angrily. No one seemed to care that someone thought it ok to shove him and tell him to stop _breathing_. Hell, they probably thought Karofsky had a point.

Pulling himself up to stand straighter, Kurt hiked up the strap of his messenger bag. He did his best to ignore the trembling in his fingers as he did, but couldn't help the instinct to glance again over his shoulder, just to ensure that no one was following him, before heading off to class. Two steadying breaths weren't enough to calm his nerves now on high alert, but maybe an hour of European History would help him forget for a while.

* * *

Despite her fathers' attempts to bring Blaine into every conversation, Rachel was both pleased and annoyed that her "brother" wasn't interested in participating. She didn't want to have him involved in discussions that really had nothing at all to do with him – like her play, her friends, her plans for Halloween. At the same time, his superior attitude was really starting to grate on her nerves. She couldn't see what was so damn _special _about the boy that he could think himself better than everyone else at the table and _above_ their topics of conversation. So Rachel just did her best to ignore his presence entirely. That was tough when every other breath either Hiram or LeRoy would try and include the rude little jerk.

"So anyway, it turns out Mr. Shue decided performing Rocky Horror was a bad idea after all, which of course is something _I _ had said at the start, but we'll be performing it tomorrow just for ourselves," she prattled. "I think that's a really constructive plan to ensure that all my talent and hard work isn't completely wasted. I mean, an audience of one is still an audience." She paused for only a moment to take a bite of her pasta primavera, but it was long enough for LeRoy to cut in with a question, and this one was (thankfully) not directed at _Blaine_.

"Do you and your friends have plans for Halloween, Rachel?"

Both Hiram and LeRoy looked at her with fond interest. Blaine didn't look at anyone. Rachel smiled brightly. "_Actually_, we were thinking of celebrating our opening/closing performance at Breadsticks in full costume. I mean, it'll actually be Halloween so it shouldn't be too strange and I hear they dye the breadsticks orange and black for the holiday. Then after that I think Brittany's having a party that Finn and I might go to, but I'll have to change first. I finally got Finn to agree to dress as the tin man, and I, of course, will be playing Dorothy," she beamed.

Hiram's smile widened. "Well that sounds like a lot of fun."

"Mmm," LeRoy hummed in agreement, "a lot of fun. Don't you think that sounds like fun, Blaine?"

Blaine looked up quickly. His brows furrowed and he shrugged his shoulder. _Going to a party with Princess Peach and the Jolly Green Giant? No, not really. _"I guess," he responded non-committally.

LeRoy's hopeful smile widened. "Well, I'm sure we can find you a costume in time, and you can go with Rachel and Finn to Brittany's, couldn't he, Rachel?" The girl's eyes widened and on a sharp inhale started to sputter and choke. She dropped her fork with a clang and patted her chest, then took a swig of water. She looked up between her dads with shock.

"You can't be serious. It's – I mean – well, Finn and I don't even know if we're going, and he won't even know anyone there but us…" Her face was starting to redden and Hiram considered her appraisingly.

"Yes, well, we know that, Rachel, but if Blaine's going to start at McKinley soon, he'll need to get to know people sooner or later."

"Maybe he can make some friends," LeRoy added helpfully. "You're both the same age, practically, you'll probably have a lot of the same classes, and you can introduce him to some of the other juniors you know."

Rachel's jaw just slacked as she sputtered, trying to find some reason why she shouldn't have to drag her loser brother along. Blaine just watched the exchange with an ever deepening frown. They were talking about him like he wasn't even there – or rather, Rachel was. He could tell she was pointedly avoiding looking at him. Hiram, at least, was looking at him. "What do you think, Blaine?" Hiram asked gently.

Blaine just looked at him, his will-power focused on keeping resentment out of his voice. He just shrugged, his eyes shifting to look at Rachel, who looked more bothered than ever. "Halloween's not really my thing," he said flatly. _Lie_. "And it's kind of pointless to meet a bunch of juniors. I'm a sophomore." He let the words roll off his tongue like it didn't bother him, like he didn't know they were judging him for it, but he could only do so much to keep the flush from his face. Rachel turned wide eyes on Blaine, but before he could see the reluctant gratitude in them, the boy set his sights back on his meal.

LeRoy and Hiram were less than pleased, but grudgingly accepted that their idea had not gone over as well as they'd hoped. They exchanged glances, both hesitating out of embarrassment that neither had known that Blaine was a year behind. "Well, in that case, we can always do something else tomorrow," LeRoy suggested. "Maybe some back-to-school shopping. How does that sound, Blaine?"

"Good idea, LeRoy," added Hiram. "Better to get that sort of thing done during work hours on a weekday. The malls are always overrun with people otherwise."

The boy raised tired eyes to see the hope on both men's faces as they looked to him expectantly. He really didn't want to go shopping again. He didn't want to owe the Berrys more than he already did. But from the way that Hiram said it, it sounded like he didn't really have a choice about _whether_ he went – but only as to _when_. Capitulating, the boy exhaled a sigh and nodded. "Yeah. Sure," he murmured in agreement.


End file.
